Gost

Dugo vremena prošlo je, namočeno u heretički vjetar koji je nemilice bježao na zaiskrenu pučinu, gdje se taj isti gotovo natprirodni trag nemilosrdno hrvao s nadolazećom vojskom ogromnih valova. Slika je svakim momentom postajala sve tmurnija i svi nebeski glasnici sklonili su se, kao po naređenju, s puta tom gromoglasnom nebeskom glasniku, očekujući njegovu milost, a ne traumu i tupi razdor koji će glasno uništiti svako srce na tom otoku.

Oluja je bila očekivana, najavljena danima unaprijed, no nitko od otočana nije očekivao prst Božji koji je odlučio da ih nepozvano i naglo posjeti. Ukrade stare priče te još starija sjećanja na prošle oluje koje su svojom nadrealnom silinom poljubile taj majušni otok gotovo usred ničega.

Svi čamci bili su izvučeni iz mora, no to nije garantiralo da će bilo koja drvena riba preživjeti ovu nabujalu tminu praćenu orkanskim vjetrom.

Kao i od pamtivjeka, hrabri građani ovog gradića zavukli su se pod otkrilje najstarije zgrade na tom zelenom otoku — crkve.

Bog će ih vjerno čuvati tamo, a vjera grijati njihove uplašene duše.

To je bio plan, no prečesto planovi padaju u vodu i odkliznu s divljim morem i s najveće litice. Hoće li ih Bog sačuvati, ili je ovo njegov način da kaže što stvarno misli o njima, o njihovom ponašanju, o onome što misle i govore kad su stvarno sami, kako se nose s bremenom istine i jezikom palucajuće laži?

Je li On tu, ili je tako lakše prebroditi ovu nema što gladnu i žednu sada, koja laje vani, zavija u apokaliptičnom srcu same morske pijavice?

Što će ih spasiti — Bog, neupitna, galatna vjera, ili ljudska snalažljivost… možda sve zajedno.

Ovaj put oluja je donijela nešto čudno, nešto što nikad prije nije imala na svojoj pameti.

Pao je snijeg, tvrdoglavi snijeg koji je sat za satom prijetio da zakrči sve ulice i totalno umrtvi kretanje onih koji još nisu pobjegli u topli dom ili, kao većina mještana, u zagrljaj svoje voljene crkve — crkve koja ih je spasila stotinu puta od kada se prvi put ukazala ljudska noga na ovom malenom otoku.

No ovaj put, kao da je sve bilo drugačije. Svaki iznenadni cvokot vjetra nosio je nešto misteriozno, nešto što nije s ovoga svijeta.

Božji poslanik, ili nešto sasvim drugo — što li su ljudi s ovog otoka, koji gotovo da ne postoji u očima svijeta, skrivili?

Figura malo višeg stasa pojavila se na molu, koji se svim srcem borio protiv totalne sile podivljalog mora. No to more, taj vjetar i ta silna hladnoća kao da nisu previše utjecale na tog novog, nepozvanog gosta.

Osoba koja je stigla zapalila je svoju lulu, koja je u toj tmini zasjala kao svjetionik, te je pažljivo skenirala svoj novi zavičaj, ne žureći previše, iako je trenutno bila u samom srcu oluje.

Zatim, kad je vidjela što je htjela, tiho je krenula prema centru otoka, ne obazirući se previše na prirodni žar koji je slamao obližnje grane, besano lupao po vrištećim vratima i obližnjim prozorima.

Bilo je kao da nitko i ništa ga ne može dotaknuti, kao da ne spada u taj sada tmurni i napaćeni horizont. Čudna figura kao da je lebdjela iznad sada snijegom zatrpanog puta, a taj isti snijeg kao da nije bio u mogućnosti dotaknuti njegovo biće.

Lula sa zlatnim ugraviranim slovima još uvijek se pušila kad je naš gost stigao u centar tog omalenog grada, sada zaleđenog i pustog.

Samo je stajao u tom centru, kao ukopan, bez riječi, čekao dok se zlačna lula pušila u surealnom ritmu… sati su tako nijemo prolazili, a naš nenajavljeni došljak još uvijek je stajao u tom centru, ne izustivši ni jednu riječ, ne pomaknuvši se ni milimetra.

Kakav čovjek, ili koje to biće, može stajati satima bez da pusti kapljicu znoja, bez da se pomakne? Možda to nije bio čovjek. Možda taj novi gost bio je nešto što ne kuca svaki dan na ljudska vrata.

Vanzemaljac, demon, anđeo ili sam vrag sa svojom lulom, koja, kad je jednom zapališ, jednostavno se ne gasi, pa čak ni u tom vandalski raspoloženom, sablasnom vjetru koji je bez problema polomio sve što je bilo slabo i staro na svom heretičkom putu.

Tko je taj čovjek? Je li možda On?

Je li to Bog za kojim vapi uplašeno i konfuzno ljudsko srce, i sada se samo igra s napaćenim ljudskim dušama, grubo zavezanim za ovaj nesretni otok, čija duša kao da samo nije potonula u nabujalo more, u grotesknu tminu jedne neponovljive noći?

Da li će otok, kao i njegovi mještani, biti spašen, ili ta osoba, taj misteriozni stranac, taj čudno odjeveni gost, nosi hladni obrok Božje presude, serviran bez previše suvišnih pitanja i previše opozvanih neintoniranih odgovora?

Čovjek koji se ne tako davno prišunjao na ovaj otok, nakon sati šutnje, progovorio je par riječi koje nisu zvučale kao ništa što je poznato ljudskom uhu. I zatim — sve je utihnulo.

Nakon par dana stigla je pomoć: hrabri mladići u vitalnim godinama, tračali su kao i uvijek prije, sada pod prelijepim sunčanim pejzažom, prema centru grada, a zatim prema skloništu tog gradića — crkvi.

No, na njihovu veliku zbunjenost, nisu mogli čuti ni lavež pasa, a kamoli ljudski klepet. Sve je bilo neugodno prazno: ulice prazne, kafići i restorani prazni, kuće te prelijepe primorske kuće… prazne.

No otoku, koji je brojio gotovo tisuću duša, sada nije bilo ni jedne.

I što je najviše sablasnilo spasioce je činjenica da ni jedna grana, ni jedan prozor, čamac nije bio slomljen.

Božja kazna? Vrag je konačno došao po svoje? Ili je otok propao čudnom igrom istine u neku drugu dimenziju? Tko god da je bio gost te kobne noći, uzeo je samo ono što je smatrao da je važno.

A očigledno, to nisu bile prelijepo izgrađene kuće, stara gotička crkva, ni prpošni mol mladenačkog izgleda.

Nakon šest mjeseci, svaka potraga je prekinuta i ovaj slučaj postao je još jedna legenda koja, bez ispaljene riječi, krade ljudsku maštu gotovo kao naš nepozvani i izrazito tihi gost.

Kraj.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Guest

A long time had passed, soaked in heretical wind that mercilessly fled into the glittering open sea, where that same almost supernatural trace fought relentlessly with the approaching army of enormous waves. The scene grew darker with every moment, and all the heavenly messengers withdrew, as if commanded, from the path of that thunderous celestial herald, expecting mercy rather than the trauma and blunt discord that would loudly shatter every heart on the island.

The storm was expected, foretold days in advance, yet none of the islanders anticipated the finger of God that decided to visit them unannounced and abruptly. It stole old stories and even older memories of past storms, which with their surreal force had kissed that tiny island almost in the middle of nowhere.

All the boats had been pulled from the sea, yet that did not guarantee that any wooden fish would survive this swollen darkness accompanied by hurricane winds.

As always, the brave citizens of this town sought refuge under the shelter of the oldest building on this green island — the church.

God would faithfully guard them there, and faith would warm their frightened souls.

That was the plan, yet plans so often fall into the water, sliding off the wild sea and the highest cliff. Would God save them, or was this His way of showing what He truly thought of them, of their behavior, of what they think and speak when they are truly alone, how they bear the burden of truth and the tongue of trembling lies?

Is He there, or is it easier this way, to endure this hungry and thirsty nothingness that now barks outside, howls in the apocalyptic heart of the very sea whirlpool?

What will save them — God, unquestionable, grand faith, or human ingenuity… perhaps all together?

This time, the storm brought something strange, something it had never had on its mind before.

Snow fell, stubborn snow that hour by hour threatened to block all streets and completely paralyze the movement of those who had not yet fled to a warm home or, like most of the islanders, into the embrace of their beloved church — the church that had saved them a hundred times since human feet first set foot on this tiny island.

But this time, it seemed everything was different. Every sudden snap of wind carried something mysterious, something not of this world.

God’s messenger, or something entirely else — what had the people of this island, almost invisible to the eyes of the world, done to deserve this?

A figure of slightly taller stature appeared on the pier, struggling with all its heart against the total force of the raging sea. Yet the sea, the wind, and the immense cold seemed to have little effect on this new, uninvited guest.

The person who arrived lit their pipe, which in the darkness shone like a beacon, carefully scanning their new homeland, without rushing, even though they were in the very heart of the storm.

Then, having seen what they wanted, they quietly moved toward the center of the island, paying little attention to the natural blaze that shattered nearby branches, hammered sleeplessly on screaming doors and nearby windows.

It was as if no one and nothing could touch them, as if they did not belong to this now gloomy and tormented horizon. The strange figure seemed to float above the snow-covered road, and that very snow appeared powerless to touch their being.

The pipe, with golden engraved letters, still smoked when our guest reached the center of this tiny, now frozen and deserted town.

They simply stood there in the center, rooted, without words, waiting as the golden pipe smoked in a surreal rhythm… hours passed silently, and our unannounced visitor still stood there, not uttering a single word, not moving an inch.

What kind of human, or what being, can stand for hours without shedding a drop of sweat, without moving? Perhaps it was not a human. Perhaps this new guest was something that does not knock on human doors every day.

An alien, a demon, an angel, or the devil himself with their pipe, which, once lit, simply does not go out, even in that vandalically furious, ghostly wind that effortlessly broke everything weak and old in its heretical path.

Who is this man? Could it be Him?

Is this the God for whom the frightened and confused human heart yearns, now playing with the tormented human souls roughly tied to this unfortunate island, whose soul seemingly has not yet sunk into the swollen sea, into the grotesque darkness of a night never to be repeated?

Will the island, like its inhabitants, be saved, or does this person, this mysterious stranger, this oddly dressed guest, carry the cold meal of God’s judgment, served without too many unnecessary questions and unintoned answers?

The man who had sneaked onto this island not long ago, after hours of silence, spoke a few words that sounded like nothing known to the human ear. And then — everything fell silent.

A few days later, help arrived: brave young men, in the prime of their years, ran as they always had before, now under the beautiful sunny landscape, toward the town center, and then toward the shelter of this little town — the church.

Yet to their great confusion, they could not hear even the barking of dogs, let alone human chatter. Everything was eerily empty: streets deserted, cafés and restaurants empty, houses and beautiful seaside homes… empty.

The island, which had almost a thousand souls, now had not a single one.

And what most haunted the rescuers was the fact that not a single branch, window, or boat had been broken.

God’s punishment? Had the devil finally come for his own? Or had the island perished through some strange game of truth into another dimension? Whoever the guest of that fateful night had been, they took only what they deemed important.

And evidently, it was not the beautifully built houses, the old Gothic church, nor the playful pier of youthful appearance.

After six months, all searches were abandoned, and this case became yet another legend that, without a single word fired, steals human imagination almost like our uninvited and remarkably silent guest.

The End.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Guest

A long time had passed, soaked in heretical wind that mercilessly fled into the glittering open sea, where that same almost supernatural trace fought relentlessly with the approaching army of enormous waves.

The scene grew darker with every passing moment, and all the heavenly messengers withdrew, as if commanded, from the path of that thunderous celestial herald—expecting mercy, not the trauma and blunt discord that would loudly shatter every heart on the island.

The storm had been expected, foretold days in advance, yet none of the islanders anticipated the finger of God, deciding to visit them unannounced, abruptly. It stole old stories and even older memories of past storms, which with their surreal force had kissed that tiny island, almost in the middle of nowhere.

All the boats had been pulled from the sea, yet that did not guarantee that any wooden fish would survive this swollen darkness, accompanied by hurricane winds.

As always, the brave citizens of this town sought refuge under the shelter of the oldest building on the green island—the church.

God would faithfully guard them there, and faith would warm their frightened souls.

That was the plan. Yet plans so often fall into the water, sliding off the wild sea and the highest cliff. Would God save them, or was this His way of showing what He truly thought of them? What of their behavior, their thoughts and words when truly alone, how they bear the burden of truth, and the tongue of trembling lies?

Is He there, or is it easier this way, to endure this hungry and thirsty nothingness that now barks outside, howls in the apocalyptic heart of the sea whirlpool itself?

What will save them—God, unquestionable, grand faith, or human ingenuity… perhaps all together?

This time, the storm brought something strange—something it had never had on its mind before.

Snow fell. Stubborn snow that, hour by hour, threatened to block all streets and completely paralyze the movement of those who had not yet fled to a warm home, or, like most of the islanders, into the embrace of their beloved church—the church that had saved them a hundred times since human feet first set foot on this tiny island.

But this time, everything seemed different. Every sudden snap of wind carried something mysterious, something not of this world.

God’s messenger, or something entirely else—what had the people of this island, almost invisible to the eyes of the world, done to deserve this?

A figure of slightly taller stature appeared on the pier, struggling with all its heart against the total force of the raging sea. Yet the sea, the wind, and the immense cold seemed to have little effect on this new, uninvited guest.

The person who arrived lit their pipe, which in the darkness shone like a beacon, carefully scanning their new homeland without rushing, even though they were in the very heart of the storm.

Then, having seen what they wanted, they quietly moved toward the center of the island, paying little attention to the natural blaze that shattered nearby branches, hammered sleeplessly on screaming doors, and rattled nearby windows.

It was as if no one and nothing could touch them, as if they did not belong to this now gloomy and tormented horizon. The strange figure seemed to float above the snow-covered road, and that very snow appeared powerless to touch their being.

The pipe, with golden engraved letters, still smoked when our guest reached the center of this tiny, now frozen and deserted town.

They simply stood there in the center, rooted, without words, waiting as the golden pipe smoked in a surreal rhythm… hours passed silently, and our unannounced visitor still stood there, not uttering a single word, not moving an inch.

What kind of human—or what being—can stand for hours without shedding a drop of sweat, without moving? Perhaps it was not human. Perhaps this new guest was something that does not knock on human doors every day.

An alien, a demon, an angel, or the devil himself, with a pipe that, once lit, simply does not go out, even in that vandalically furious, ghostly wind that effortlessly broke everything weak and old in its heretical path.

Who is this man? Could it be Him?

Is this the God for whom the frightened and confused human heart yearns, now playing with the tormented human souls roughly tied to this unfortunate island, whose soul seemingly has not yet sunk into the swollen sea, into the grotesque darkness of a night never to be repeated?

Will the island, like its inhabitants, be saved, or does this person, this mysterious stranger, this oddly dressed guest, carry the cold meal of God’s judgment, served without too many unnecessary questions and unintoned answers?

The man who had sneaked onto this island not long ago, after hours of silence, spoke a few words that sounded like nothing known to the human ear. And then—everything fell silent.

A few days later, help arrived: brave young men in the prime of their years, running as they always had before, now under the beautiful sunny landscape, toward the town center, and then toward the shelter of this little town—the church.

Yet, to their great confusion, they could not hear even the barking of dogs, let alone human chatter. Everything was eerily empty: streets deserted, cafés and restaurants empty, houses and beautiful seaside homes… empty.

The island, which had almost a thousand souls, now had not a single one.

And what most haunted the rescuers was the fact that not a single branch, window, or boat had been broken.

God’s punishment? Had the devil finally come for his own? Or had the island perished through some strange game of truth into another dimension? Whoever the guest of that fateful night had been, they took only what they deemed important.

And evidently, it was not the beautifully built houses, the old Gothic church, nor the playful pier of youthful appearance.

After six months, all searches were abandoned, and this case became yet another legend that, without a single word fired, steals human imagination almost like our uninvited and remarkably silent guest.

The End.