A Safe Haven

ONE

1939

AUGUST

Štitare, Serbia

‘Come here, mačka,’ Dragan called out softly to the black and white cat. It took no notice of him and continued to squat in the middle of the tomato plants. Dragan looked hastily around. All was quiet. Although the sun had barely graced the soft clear blue sky above the mountains, it promised to be another hot summer’s day. Iridescent drops of dew sparkled on the grass. Even the cockerels were not yet ready to herald the morning.

The cat began scrabbling around in the dirt. ‘I’ll show you,’ Dragan muttered edging closer, clutching a pair of tin cans draped around his neck on a piece of string. He hurled himself towards the cat. The animal darted away with a screech leaving him wallowing face down in the dirt. He was even more annoyed to see the cat a safe distance away haughtily washing itself. He launched himself again at the cat, but it dashed across the garden towards Strena Mileva’s house.

‘Of all the people you have to choose her!’ he groaned, edging his way towards the cat, who had settled down on the doorstep. It gave Dragan a look of haughty disdain as it began to clean its paws. Dragan pounced again and this time managed to grab hold of it by the scruff of its neck. The cat hissed and spat as it tried to struggle from his grasp, paws flailing to claw him. Dragan began to tie the string holding the now battered cans on to the tail just as the door opened. ‘What’s that commotion?’ grumbled Strena Mileva, appearing in the doorway. Her eyes bulged in disbelief as she was met with the sight of Dragan grappling with a large hissing caterwauling ball of fur.

‘You bad boy!’ she shouted, grabbing hold of Dragan’s ear, hitting his backside with her walking stick. He tried to wriggle free from her vice-like grasp as she dragged him to his house. ‘Let’s see what your father has to say about this.’

Failing to find Dragan’s father, she deposited him in front of his mother, Milana, who was in the kitchen making breakfast. After Strena Mileva had given a brief but very heated account of what had just occurred, Milena tried to pacify her. Assured that Dragan would be dealt with, Mileva’s anger subsided. ‘That boy needs discipline,’ she muttered on her way out of the kitchen.

Milena wiped her hands on her apron and looked at her wayward son in despair. ‘Oh Mika, words escape me.’ He was the most troublesome of her six children and from the very day that he could walk he was getting into one scrape or another. Although his thirteenth birthday was two months away, he was already at that awkward age, not a child but not yet an adult. Negoslav and Gora had passed that stage without too much difficulty but with Dragan it was different. It was as if the boy was determined to seek out adventure whatever the cost. She shook her head at a subdued Dragan. ‘What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?’

‘No one believes me it’s Andjela’s cat that tramples on the tomato plants. I’ve seen it scratching around in the dirt, but it’s always when there’s no one around except me. It’s not fair I’m blamed for it, so I thought I'd show everyone who the real culprit was.’

‘By tying tin cans to its tail?’

‘Well, I thought that when it went into the garden, it would make such a noise. Then everyone would see it was the cat breaking the plants and not me…’ his voice tailed off as he realised how silly it sounded now.

‘Don’t you think that it was being cruel to the cat?’

Dragan nodded ruefully, toeing the ground with this foot.

His mother sighed. ‘I’m sure your father will have something to say on the matter when he gets back from town. I don’t know what he will make of this latest episode.’

Dragan rubbed his still smarting backside. ‘Do you have to tell him? Strena Mileva’s already walloped me with her walking stick.’

‘Humph. Of course I do. Besides even if I didn’t, he would certainly hear about it from Mileva.’

‘She’s always mean to me.’

‘You exaggerate.’

‘It’s true.’

She looked at him and sighed once more. ‘You’re the image of your father. When she sees you, she’s reminded of how much they’ve lost over the years. She resents people taking pity on her and Uncle Bane.’

‘Well she shouldn’t look like a beggar woman, and their house looks like a shack that’s about to fall down.’

His mother shrugged. ‘Your father has tried to help Bane and Mileva many times.’

Dragan nodded. ‘I know, but how come they’re so poor now?’

‘Because your father was older than Bane, he had always grown up knowing he had a certain responsibility to look after the village, as his father before him, just like Great Dada Panta. Bane didn’t have that sense of responsibility and grew reckless with money. Mileva was the same. As you know she came from a very wealthy family, but between the two of them their money didn’t last long.’ She dished some porridge into a bowl and placed it on the kitchen table. ‘Here, eat it before it gets cold.’

Dragan dug his spoon into the creamy cereal, deep in thought. A perplexed look crossed his brow. ‘The village is quite big now. Does it take a lot of time to look after it?’

Milana smiled. ‘Not in the way you think. If you remember, when Panta first came here, there was nothing. As people moved in and bought land from him, the village grew. He gave help and advice whenever he could and people looked up to him. It’s the same now as then.’

Dragan thought about his elder brother, Negoslav. ‘Is Negoslav responsible for the village as well? Is that why he’s been so serious just lately?’

‘Not until he’s much older. If he’s been more serious, it’s probably because he’s got a lot on his mind,’ Milana sighed. ‘Now hurry up and eat your breakfast.’ She tucked stray wispy strands of her soft brown hair back into her headscarf. ‘It’s no wonder my hair is going grey.’

‘It’s not grey, it’s silver and you haven’t got that many,’ Dragan grinned cheekily.

She couldn’t help smiling, her cheeks like ripened brown apples. ‘I really don’t know what we are going to do with you. You’re such a contradictory child…’

‘Contradictory? How?’ Dragan interrupted, if he strung this out long enough maybe she would forget to tell his father. ‘Is that’s what meant by a para...’ screwing up his eyes as he tried to remember the correct word.

Despite herself, Milana laughed. ‘A paradox?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I once overhead my teacher talking to father about me.’

‘You shouldn’t eavesdrop. No good ever came out of anyone listening in to other people’s conversations.’

‘Well, then I wouldn’t have found out what a paradox meant. The teacher said that I was like two different people. One minute I'd behave like a child then the next try to talk to him like an adult. I don’t know why he should think that. I only really speak up in our history lessons when it's to do with the Ottomans.’

‘Mmm quite,’ his mother murmured.

‘I mean, I only mentioned that Djordje’s cousin Stefan had been impaled on a stake. I asked him if he knew how it was actually done.’

‘And what did the teacher say?’

Dragan shrugged. ‘He didn’t know what to say and just changed the subject.’

Milana sighed. ‘You know you shouldn’t get so obsessed about him.’

‘Why shouldn’t I, he’s a hero after all. He comes to me in my dreams and talks to me. I know he’s still looking after us all.’

She shook her head. ‘I quite despair of you at times. Sometimes I wish that you would be more like your brothers and sisters.’

Dragan flashed another one of his cheeky grins. His face lit up, making his eyes sparkle. ‘Ah, but then it wouldn’t be me.’

The corners of her mouth twitched with an irresistible urge to smile. ‘No I suppose not. I don’t think there is anyone quite like you, besides your father.’ She frowned as she remembered the purpose of their talk. ‘Now then let’s get back to the subject of the incident with the cat. I shall have to tell your father when he returns.’

‘But…’

‘But nothing, your father will deal with you later. Now quickly eat your breakfast, your brothers are waiting for you to go with them to the vineyards.’

Dragan felt quite light-hearted as the day drew to a close. There had been no mention of his escapade and thought he had got away with it, but on his return the stern look on his father’s face said it all.

‘Dragoslav I want a word with you.’

Dragan’s heart sunk. Now he was in trouble! He stood meekly in front of his father with downcast eyes.

‘Whatever reasons you might offer, what you did was inexcusable. You must apologise immediately to your sister. As punishment I expect you to do all her chores as well as your own.’

Dragan looked suitably penitent. There was no point in protesting and prolonging the agony. ‘Yes, Father. I am sorry because I didn’t really mean any harm. If I finish all the chores in time, can I still go to football this evening?’

‘It’s no use Dragoslav. The answer is no and don’t think you can get round me. You should have thought about that this morning. Oh and by the way, your aunts are visiting tomorrow. I shall expect you to be on your best behaviour and help your mother instead of running off.’

Dragan set to and began to work his way through the list of chores. If he completed them all without any fuss, there still might be time. Standing in the chicken run with the chickens clucking around him, he realised despondently there wouldn’t be.

‘Ouch!’ He scowled down at the chickens as they hopped and flapped around him. He threw them some more grain to peck at instead of him. The chicken run was a sizeable area at the far end of the courtyard, enclosed by a slatted wooden fence. The coop inside the run was also home to two fierce looking cockerels. A pig sty holding several pigs sat alongside the run. An ox, two cows and a little calf were housed in the cowshed nearby.

‘I bet Djordje wouldn’t have stood any nonsense!’ he grumbled, stepping onto the wooden slat at the bottom of the fence, although he knew he shouldn’t. He’d been told off on many occasions for standing on the fence. He was slightly-built and short for his age. The extra step up helped him to get a good view of the surrounding countryside. He rested his chin on the fence and gazed towards the distance. The tops of the mountains, wreathed in a soft haze, glowed honey-gold in the late afternoon sun. Beyond the mountains lay Raška – the cradle of the Ancient Kingdom of Serbia. The town of Priština was once at the centre of medieval Serbia, and of course Kosovo. The crushing defeat at Kosovo Polje – The Field of Blackbirds – had brought about an end to this once-great ancient State. It also gave birth to the greatest Serbian legend - Saint Lazar – the saviour of their spiritual soul. After the sacrifice that Prince Lazar had made for his people in the name of Christianity, he was elevated to sainthood and became known as Saint Lazar. Dragan loved this land so much. Had it not been for his great-great-grandfather Djordje, his son Panta would not have settled here.

Dragan rode alongside Djordje, their horses matching stride for stride until they reached the waiting crowd. Djordje took hold of Dragan’s hand and raised it in a victorious salute. ‘My brothers and sisters, we have vanquished the enemy!’ A tumultuous roar rose from the people surrounding them like a wave on the ocean, rising and cresting.

‘Hey stop that!’ Dragan scowled down at the chickens pecking away at his toes, annoyed that they had broken his daydream. He threw them some more grain and thought about the unfairness of it all. All the boys, including Rada, would be going to football. The match was being held at the school in Kupci, just a short walk away. The local hospital as well as the school was in Kupci. There was also a large general store and kafana, with a small hardware shop next to the district post office.

Dragan threw down the last of the chicken feed and turned around to see Rada walking down the lane waving to him. ‘Hey, I thought you were coming to football with the rest of us?’

Dragan sighed. ‘I’m in trouble again, so I’ve had extra chores to do. I’ve still got to go and collect the sheep from the field, so you’d better go along without me.’

‘It will be dark soon. I’ll come with you. Football can wait.’

Dragan cheered up instantly. He never felt happier than when he was spending time with Rada. He quickly shooed the chickens back into their coop.

Rada couldn’t resist giving a grin as he clapped a hand on Dragan’s shoulder. ‘Well, what sort of trouble have you got yourself into this time?’

Dragan returned his grin and told him about this morning’s episode with the cat. ‘It wasn’t funny at the time,’ Dragan reproached as Rada began to laugh.

‘I’m sorry but I can’t help it. I just have this vision of Strena Mileva.’ He stooped over making out he had a walking stick in one hand as he shuffled along imitating her, shaking a finger at him. ‘Dragoslav you are a bad boy.’

The pair of them just collapsed in a heap laughing hysterically. Rada picked Dragan up dusting him down. ‘We’d better get a move on in case she hears us. I swear she has the ears of a bat!’

Together they set up the dusty lane, passing Rada’s house, before coming to the fork in the lane. Bypassing the one leading to the village shop, they continued straight ahead. At first the incline was barely perceptible but gradually began to get steeper as they walked towards the hills. The sun had begun its descent towards the horizon, the huge fireball gradually changing from orange to red. To the right of them were endless stretches of cornfields. The once vivid green of the stalks now browned by the hot summer sun reached out, six feet tall, to embrace the sky. The golden ears of corn nodded sleepily as if they were saying goodnight. Trees lined the left-hand side, broken by a small track, which led to the family forest. The lane came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of a field, where the sheep were still happily grazing. Further up, the vineyards were already showing the promise of a good crop. Beyond them, fields of wheat and barley edged by scrubland extended up into the surrounding hills and forest.

From where they stood, they could look right down into the valley. The main road cut right through it. This busy road was one of Yugoslavia’s main highways, running from Austria to Greece, along the length of the country. Set in a large courtyard at right angles to the lane and the main road was Dragan’s house. It was a large one-storey whitewashed building with a red tiled roof. Two big barns and an adjoining workshop sat next door. Dragan’s father, like his father and Panta before him, were exceptionally skilled carpenters. The family business had grown considerably over the years. They made wooden carts for either oxen or donkeys to pull. Although the ones to be harnessed up to oxen were usually large and cumbersome, the smaller ones for donkeys were very decorative.

Behind the house was the vegetable garden with a pathway leading to Uncle Bane and Strena Mileva’s house. Orchards of apples, peaches, pears and plums lay across the other side of the road. Past the orchards, fields of maize grew alongside meadows that skirted the banks of the Rasina River.

The Rasina, threading its way through the fields below, shimmered in the reflection of the setting sun. Blood red like an angry scar on the landscape. Dragan felt icy cold fingers on his back and a small shiver ran up his spine. So much blood had been shed over the years in the name of freedom. From the moment the fledgling state of Serbia gained independence from Byzantium, there were those waiting to take it away. Unimaginable cruelty from the Ottoman Turks, a brief respite before being crushed once again by the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The Great War followed with the Southern Slavic states joining to form Yugoslavia once hostilities had ceased. Was another tyrant about to tear the country apart? He felt a sense of unease and for a fleeting moment wondered whether it was a bad omen. He knew that Baba Vojka would have said so, but tried to put it to the back of his mind. The disappearing sun had turned the horizon into a kaleidoscope of colours. Orange, red, pink, and pale blue turning darker at the edges as the night sky approached. The air became still and hushed heralding the onset of dusk as the day gently slipped towards night.

‘Rada?’ Dragan hesitated.

‘What?’

‘Do you think there will be a war?’

‘It’s only talk at the moment.’

‘What if Hitler decides to invade us?’

‘Then I’ll join the army and fight.’

‘I’ll join with you, we can fight together and look after one another.’

Rada laughed softly. ‘You’re too young for the army little brother.’