Strange and usual things

8/20/2019 Strange and usual things

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About the Author

Mladen was born in Sarajevo, where he finished elementary

school. At the beginning of the Bosnian war he moves to

Belgrade Serbia where he graduated from the high school. Later

he moved back to his home town where he still lives and writes.


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To my little nephew Milan, from his uncle


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M l a d e n T o m i c

S T R N G E N D U S U L

T H I N G S


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Copyright © Mladen Tomic (2015)

The right of Mladen Tomic to be identified as author of this work

has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the

publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this

publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims

for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British

Library.

ISBN 978 1 78455 804 8

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2015)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Printed and bound in Great Britain


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Contents

Search Attempts 11

A Lonely Island 17

Another Unusual Story 22

The Treasure and The Begging 27

Parallel Hours 32

Photosynthesis 37

The Drive 42

The Visit 47

There Are Two Ends to a Stick 51

Work 58


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Search Attempts

He was walking through the dried swamp looking for

a job and a place to stay. He was wandering from one

place to another. He couldn’t find his peace anywhere.He kept looking for new adventures. On the edge of

the swamp, which was dried up a year and a half ago

exactly, there was a house made from handmade

bricks whose colour was a cross between brown and

orange. The house with small windows and a straw

roof, which looked like a hat on a head of a living

creature, was a bit funny sight. Famished and tired, hecould barely stand on his feet. He came to the

pinewood door which had that old honey patina. He

found the similarity between his own prematurely bald

head with a straw hat and the house roof amusing. He

was extremely thin, tall and always with a pipe in his

mouth, even when he was sleeping. Also, he was ill-tempered, just and a choleric. He would quickly lash

out over nothing, but he would also end a brawl like

nothing happened. Even though the house looked


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abandoned, he knocked anyway. It turned out he was

wrong. Someone did live in the house, and not just

someone, but entire family. He knocked, and the door

was opened for him.

The host was standing at the door, comfortably

plump, in his fifties, dressed just like him, minus the

hat. He was wearing a linen shirt, old corduroy pants

and a house robe, all in shades of brown. Although

some twenty years older, he wasn’t bald, but he did

have huge sideburns. Short and stocky he was a good-natured man, with neatly cut hair falling in bangs on

his prominent forehead. He managed to say his name

and then he lost consciousness. ‘Petar ,’ he said and

fell headfirst on the wooden floor right in front of the

host. His last name was Ilic, just like the composer’s.

Despite not being connected to Russia even remotely,

his mother gave him that name with high expectationsthat he might become famous and appreciated. He was

Jack of all trades ever since he ran away from home at

the age of sixteen, with a colourful linen bag in his

hands and a piece of barley bread in it. This

adventurist walked through life baldly, with two clear

aims in front of him: he will either become a greatman or go back to being a joke. Still, he knew he

wanted to accomplish something great, although he

wasn’t quite sure what it was. The host, finding

himself in an awkward situation, lifted the uninvited

guest with great difficulty and brought him inside the

house. When he regained consciousness, he offered

him some food and rum to refresh. Then, he found outthat he was in the house of a Mr. Ranko, which was

his family name. Baring in mind that the gentleman

just saved his life, in his mind he became something

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Strange and usual things