"Dreshi" from Shumadia and Mir's escape from Zeza

For two years, while the first Serbia ruled in Black (1912-1914), hardly any blacksmith had seen the Serbian currency of trade, called the dinar. The blacksmiths, what little trade they did, mainly did it by exchanging goods for goods. If they needed to buy something, they sold grain, or some domestic animal. They eventually had to sell some animal skins that they had slaughtered for the winter. They were used to thinking mainly only about the bread of the year.

There is more and more mourning, the black people said in unison. Anyone who predicted something for tomorrow, they said, "It's a mourning!" Within four years of the Austro-Hungarian occupation, the Serbian army had once again appeared in Zezë.

The blacks were accustomed to saying that everything black first passes through the Black. This rule would not last more than twenty years! Surprisingly, that was exactly what happened!

After the Italians fled in 1943, just two days later, two German soldiers on a three-wheeled motorbike were seen placing their flag on the door of the commune in Prizren. No one knew where the pasuli was coming from. The young people's predictions about the arrival of a new invader did not cease.

At that time, none of the black people had a radio. There were no newspapers in Zeza either.

However, the soothsayers predicted great events that would happen. They predicted everything. Each seemed more prophetic than the other. Although no one accepted the other's prediction, someone would guess it.

If anyone were to listen to them, they would get the impression that they communicate with the most famous international news agencies!

"Germanism is spreading fast!" said the black "analysts" of Zeza. A peasant who had never even dreamed of reading letters seemed to know everything that was happening in the world.

The blacks knew all about the world's affairs, but nothing about themselves. They didn't mind their own business, but predicted which invader would come tomorrow. Italy had left after three years, and Germany, the year after that.

The blacksmiths had whispered that the Serbian Krajl would never return. They had also predicted the new communist system. "They will come and find me with a star on my forehead!" - they had said. And so it happened.

While some peace had been established in Zeza, poverty had wreaked havoc along with various contagious diseases. The health system was still unknown in Zeza. For more than twenty years, few people in Zeza could secure a year's worth of bread. Even the new communist government, in the name of a certain "Vishaku", had taken all the grain from the villagers, leaving them with nothing.

While he was spinning the lychee under the shade of the plum tree in the yard, Mujzi kept thinking about the little wheat he had sown, which had just begun to ripen, and was still far from the sickle. Usually the wheat was harvested before it was fully ripe. They would leave it lying in the field, for two or three days or more. They would test the grains of wheat with their teeth to see how dry they were and whether they were ready to be threshed.

Mujziu needed almost another month before he could put the wheat in the barn. His mill was running out. He planted one or two rye seeds, depending on the need. The rye grew well and ripened a little earlier. This time, he had counted the rye straw, not only for the liquor, but also to cover a sheep hut. He had harvested several sheaves of rye. He had thoroughly threshed it and crushed it. He had extracted two and a half grains of rye, ready for milling.

Two bushels are not enough for a month, he thought?! One should even add a bushel of grain. Matej Mujziu made a grain mixture that he had never made before. He added a bushel of corn to the sack of two and a half bushels of rye. When the unripe rye grains were ground, the bread turned out to be slightly green.

Mujziu wasn't experimenting with how many kilos of rice the bag could hold, but how many kilograms needed to be cooked in a month, for nine family members.

Who would have thought of the combination of rye and millet, Mujziu thought silently?!

He was also a great mahitar. His lips would squirm when he thought of mixing corn with rye, then he thought that even the miller would be surprised by this combination! Corn is wild for cooking, while rye is difficult to grind. From this flour, the bread comes out a little wet but softer than that made entirely of corn.

Even the miller has trouble setting the stone to grind a mixture of rye and corn. They had tried wheat and corn before, but not rye and corn.

Mujziu had not found another way to secure bread for another month. The amount of rye he had harvested without being properly ripened, as soon as the grains had lost their shape, was not enough. You wouldn't believe what a combination this was to keep all nine members of his family from starving?!

The combined millet cooked and baked well.

White grain threshing machines had begun to arrive from Sumadija to Zeza. Black people no longer threshed grain with horses and sledges.

Miri had returned from work that day and had not gone home at all. He had stopped on the street where he had encountered Mujziu, who was full of poison.

Without saying another word to the neighbor, he asked:

– Did you remove the wheat?

-No, I didn't delete it!- Mujziu had replied.

-The car didn't come to my lama! They told me that a hundred sheaves of wheat are not enough and we have no intention of bringing the car to your lama.

While Mujziu was speaking, Miri burst into tears.

"Who thinks anything good in Black?" he had said to himself.

-Instead of the black neighbors forcing the machinist from Shumadia to sweep Mujziu's grain, the blacks have discovered this vile trap?!- thought Miri. She had not expected to hear more words from Mujziu.

He had gone straight to the Trakalić family's farm, where the "dreshi" from Šumadia was being swept away. He had greeted the workers and called the owner of the machine.

He had asked him why he had passed Mujziu's llama without sweeping the grain? The driver had told Mir that the Trakalićs had threatened him, that they would drive him out of Zeza altogether if he swept Mujziu's grain by turning the threshing floor into a llama with a hundred sheaves of wicked wheat?!

Miri had not said another word. He had decided that the machinist would not do such a trick, much less in an unknown place. Miri was convinced that all these vile things were the offspring of the blacksmiths. Miri had his house at the end of the village and the "dreshi" usually went to his field at the very end of the threshing floor.

Without further ado, Miri had returned home and that day had decided to run away from Zeza. Even when it was his turn to sweep with "dresh", he had not accepted. He swept the wheat again as always with horses. All these messes that the blacks were doing, they did not think at all about the other messes, which were taking place one after the other.

After two weeks, Miri had put his land up for sale. He hadn't said a word to anyone yet, but he had decided to leave Zeza.

That had been Mir's last day in Zezë. He had left at night, without saying goodbye to anyone.

Miri had become a man, was married and had three children. He had never heard a good news in Zeza. Even the four years of primary school that he had finished during the second Serbian invasion had left deep scars on his soul. He had started school at the age of eighteen. He understood every lesson, but also every evil of the occupier and the blacks. Until that day when he saw the dirt that was being swept away according to the black dictates of the blacks, he decided to leave for good. He knew the history of the blacks better than anyone else. Zeza would not have had the black name, if the blacks were not so black, Miri thought.

In Zezë, no work was done without a black man. Not a day passed without the shepherds fighting among themselves. Not a day of work in the fields passed without one of the black men getting involved. Miri remembered all these black men. He had not even seen anything good to remember. Miri had not said a single word to anyone about his final escape from Zezë.

Threshing machines were coming from Serbia to thresh the grain. The Serbs brought those machines by tractor after they finished threshing in Šumadija.

For many years, the number of cars was not enough for each village. For one car, they assigned from three to ten villages in a row. Thus, the harvests in Zeza were delayed until the end of September. Even those cars had difficulty penetrating the dirt roads of Zeza. The owner of the car looked at the terrain and explored paths from which he could penetrate to the zijosh's lem. All this was met with work and sacrifice. If the zijosh were not quarrelsome and impudent, there would be no need for physical conflicts. When a car entered the village, the zijosh women gathered and cooked up a thousand ways about who would sweep first and which lem the car could enter and which not.

Since the first year there had been great confusion among the peasants. This was the third year that had been eagerly awaited. Those who had tried this threshing with a machine no longer thought of threshing with a hoe or with horses. The peasant had neither hoe nor horses. There were not many sheaves of wheat that could attract the owner of the machine for more profit. The peasants had made the order of threshing. The peasants who had few sheaves should not thresh the grain at all!

Miri had made a wise remark about this wickedness of the blacksmiths. He was the only blacksmith who knew how to read and write. Then someone suggested that those who had few sheaves of wheat should bring them to the nearest neighbor's llama. This also did not turn out to be a successful solution, since while carrying the sheaves from llama to llama, half of the grains were shaken off the wheat ears. It was not only Mujziu who had fallen into trouble, but half of the villagers of Zeza were in this situation. Only two or three blacksmiths agreed to carry their sheaves of wheat to the foreign llama. The others, again, swept the grain with horses. Mujziu did not find this threshing easy. He was constantly thinking about how to ensure the necessary amount of grain for new bread.

Those villagers who were left without threshing wheat saw that they had missed so many good days of July. In September, the rails came quickly. The wait was fatal for threshing wheat by machine. The blacksmiths threshed the wheat in September, and barely got the grain into the barn. The poor people thought about the coming years. The machines will come, but we cannot increase the amount of wheat sown. Nothing promised that the machine would come to their lama next year.

Miri suffered more than the others, because he had no one to talk to. Those who came from Šumadia with threshing machines did not know anyone in Zeza. The blacks, every hour, would create all sorts of godfathers with the Serbian machinist, offering him food and lodging, since there was no other way to stay until the end of the sweeps. As soon as they made godfathers, they would also begin to assign him the threshing itinerary according to their will, which was usually done with the anger of the black neighbors. Miri himself saw these actions better than anyone.

No one could read his silence as to what he was thinking of doing. The monks didn't even bother with Mir's "dreams," as they called them.

For several years, Miri had tried carefully to establish some order and justice, especially when the grain was hidden in the straw, but without success. He was very desperate. He had thought long and hard about what to do, but the blacksmiths had not taken any of his ideas into account.

In the third year, the harvest of wheat in Zezë went very well. The blacks fought among themselves, who would get it first. the vine from Shumadia. The clashes ended with several injuries, but this time there were no deaths. In this situation, Miri again refused to take the vine on his llama. For the third year in a row, his friends swept away his wheat with horses at the end of September. After all the hardships he experienced, Miri finally left Zeza. Most of the black people got married when one of their neighbors left. From the 120 families it had before the liberation, Zeza is now left with only two families.