Among the many earthly natural beauties, there are also unusually mysterious and harsh places, with such eerie natural properties of the environment that one does not feel the least bit comfortable in them. Geysers of Yellowstone Park, for example. The ghostly smell of sulfur and the sudden eruption of the pillars of hot water gushing from the ground, are not recommended for many for an immediate experience. To people with a weaker heart in the first place. The situation is similar with interstate borders. Not the natural ones formed by the wreaths of high wedding mountains, for example, or, large rivers like the Amazon, the Nile, the Volga, and the Danube, deserts like the Sahara, the Gobi, or those in Arizona. The scariest places on the planet are those non-existent borders, conceived and marked by man, with artificial fences, partitions, compartments and boxes built on them.

Such a free traveler moves on a beautiful plateau, with a singing heart in his chest, a soul full of delight because of the bliss of nature that surrounds him and a deceptive feeling of freedom that as a traveler is just very silent, when suddenly the gates of earthly hell open before him !? Something like a scene from "Mad Max", starring Mel Gibson. The horns of the roofs of the border houses spread across it tear the outlines of the sky, the doors wrapped in the mystique of darkness like Dante's are the entrances to certain circles of hell, and everything around is finely drawn, paved and carefully concreted by the hand of the invisible Satan: here - for trucks, here - for buses, there - for passenger vehicles, and the interior of the cottages - to remove suspicious passengers naked. Purgatory, my dears, and terrible penance, I tell you! How many anuses and vaginas of astonished passengers are defiled by the gloved fingers of zealous devilish servants dressed in (ah, cynicism of the ground !?) uniforms of sky blue, no one will ever be able to count. The valleys of sighs are a kind of place, places where many hearts trembled and stopped, countless stresses were born on them. Many unfortunates are still jealous at night and jump out of bed shaking like a stick, in their sleep begging the cuckold-customs officer to be merciful and let them pass - in relief. With trembling hands, they dig through wallets and compartments, feverishly take out documents, driver's licenses, green cards, check visas ... And then, just. Vehicles open, take everything out of them, stack right and mercilessly on the phantom asphalt street, lilac rain or snow, strong wind or hurricane alone, it doesn't matter. In a word, the torment is alive, indescribable! All that - just to cross the other side of the non-existent, imaginary ghost line and leave behind a weird zone full of all kinds of fear and unpleasant, torturous, grumpy scarecrows. The only ray of hope in his eclipse of the horrors of the earth is the knowledge that the first unbeliever whom Jesus transformed was a customs officer. So, for some of them, there is hope. And now, let's get to the point. The story is this, not with Mel Gibson in the lead role, but with a much bigger star, Safet Prcic himself! Do you think we're kidding? If so, you are completely wrong. It is easy for the beautiful Mel to defeat all possible terrible enemies and solve the incredible problems set before him, when they have already been solved in advance in the script. What Safet lives and bravely solves every day, the unhappy everyday life on the other side of the Schengen border, does not take place according to a pre-written book of filming. For the torments of life of "little people", my dear ones, a happy ending is simply not foreseen.

* * *

- Lojze, I really could have earned money, I'm telling you! - shouted the flushed, red-faced and obese Slovenian border policeman to his fellow customs officer, eagerly drawn into the subject, dilated burning pupils like an irritated bull and trembling hands, with a nervousness that is hard to hide. - Again? - a tall, dry interlocutor looked at him calmly, half-interestedly, staring somewhere ahead, over the lowered border ramp. It was early morning, the shift was just beginning, and those rested, sleepy and, according to all the regulations of the service, ready for the daily efforts of the working day. At least that could be said for a calm dugout who didn't type at the bookmaker like, it seemed, a mad colleague again this morning. Incomprehensible to Lois was the anger of the passionate bookmakers. When they win, they rejoice immeasurably and consider only their own "refined intuition for the goal" to be responsible for the profit. But when they lose, if by any chance they were close to the premium, they are very angry. To whom, he wondered. Indeed, WHO are they then full of rage and schizophrenic torment that grips them from the toes to the scalp hair ?! He didn't understand them. Who is to blame for a club there, which, by the way, they barely heard about, scoring the winning goal at the end of the game, and they bet on a draw? I guess they themselves again! First of all: if they hadn't played, they wouldn't have been angry. Then, if they hadn't typed wrong, they would have won and rejoiced, wouldn't they !? Life is, in essence, very simple, he thought. Because of his knowledge, Lojze was often proud of himself. He considered himself a very analytical and reasonable man. From a young age, he appreciated everything exactly and transparently! It is a pity that he did not become a scientist, physicist, or mathematician, for example ... However, the angry border policeman Marko was his first colleague and he has already learned to endure the outbursts of his frustrations on Mondays. - Like married !? Lojze thought with resignation and winced. - Shitty "Waregem"! - before the new burst of torment, the plump policeman blushed and swelled up. - In the 82nd minute, they scored for 3: 2! Number one !? I could ... One hundred thousand George! At least-yet !? - waving his hands, he spelled frothily. Lojze was filled with pride again. Unbelievable, and true: just such a development of events, as a moment ago, he predicted in his thinking! Eh, what to say ?! Some people are simply gifted by God. His flushed colleague leaned forward as if to spit, and with the tip of his polished shoe he stuffed a plastic trash can with all his might, like a soccer ball. This summer it took off and fell on the sidewalk. Lojze raised an eyebrow reproachfully, and Marko realized that he had exaggerated. Still, with a sense of relief, he picked her up, picked her up, picked up the loose pieces of paper, and carefully put her back in place. Then he looked around cautiously. It would be bad for some journalist to photograph his masterful move.

Mauris lectus dolor, varius ut imperdiet nec, dignissim nec ligula. Cras posuere odio et finibus accumsan. Mauris in sem non arcu consectetur posuere sed quis justo. Sed turpis mauris, aliquet ac lacus nec, tempor condimentum justo.

Or, he shudders at the very thought and immediately pulls his head into his shoulders, to see him - the head of the shift !? That's all he needs. Fortunately for him, at that early hour the interstate border between Croatia and Slovenia was usually calm, just sleepily quiet. At that moment, Lojze stared intently at the wide access road dotted with white and yellow stripes for vehicle classification. Marko also looked in the same direction and noticed that a sports bike was emerging from the morning fog on the Slovenian side! The man sitting on it, pressed by a whitish veil and outstretched elbows, for a moment seemed like some astonishing Cherub of folded wings. Even the bicycle he was riding did not move normally in a straight line. No, he made strange, semicircular moves now to the left, now to the right, depending on which foot of the cyclist he pressed the pedal with. If he did it on the right, the two-wheeled vehicle was moving to the left, on the pressure of the left, it was going to the right. A strange, lingering, throaty melody spread quietly through the air, louder and louder as it approached the ramp.
- Da zna zoora, da zna zooora ... - an intriguing, harmonious melody floated in the air, additionally emphasized by the expressiveness of the strength of the throat and the fineness of the voice of the person who sang it. - Koju draagu ljuubiim jaaa... –

The plump policeman immediately spreads it on the road, like a Texas cowboy with weak nerves, who, on the other hand, is already preparing to fight with revolvers at a loud challenge. Lojze glanced at his watch. Five-thirty! He had to pay silent tribute to the singing cyclist. He arrived from the Slovenian side every day, always at the same time, with the same song on his lips. In fact, that song had already annoyed him. It was starting to sound more and more like a provocation.
- Here he is again! A Bosnian ... 'said the policeman, his tomato-colored face. "Um ..." said Lojze, staring at the rolling bicycle, which was getting bigger and bigger. - Bosnians are everywhere. This is - a Croatian Bosnian - he emphasized. - Right - actually, from Pula! -
Marko blinked, looked at his colleague, and nodded. "Sophisticated ..." he said shortly.
- Haaaaj !!! Ne bi zoora, ne – bi zoora ! Nikad pusta svaanulaaa ! - a melody sung loudly and in its own way, clean and humid in the early morning air, stretched from pleasure and inner fulfillment. The bicycle soon stopped in front of two serious, proverbially gloomy border guards. The man in the hands of the steering wheel shuffled to the asphalt and smiled broadly.
- Good morning, gentlemen! - he thundered, and the whole sparkling waterfall of unquenchable joy of life flashed from his eyes.
Lojze nodded briefly, his outstretched colleague coldly holding out his hand.

- Documents, please! -
The man reaches for his backpack, pulls out his passport, and hands it to him. When he took it, he continued to rummage through it.

- And? Why yell and scream in the early morning ?! - as uninterested, and in fact with a warning in his voice and extremely resentful, Marko asked, leafing through the travel document. "Did he get drunk last night?" - Look carefully at the newcomer.

• What! He who drinks, let him not travel! Because he won't get far ... - the man said wryly, with a new disarming smile, and took a plastic container out of his backpack. - And for singing in the air, as far as I can tell, there is no God's punishment! -

He unfolded it, took out a piece of cheese and handed it to Lois.

• Try it, sir! Homemade, heals the soul! -

Lojze looked at him sarcastically, but then he took the offered piece and tasted it. It is not made of suspicious or forbidden ingredients. In fact, it was extremely tasty. He wiped his lips with a paper towel and stared at the newcomer.

• Safet ... - said the round colleague, reading from the passport. - Pr ... Prkič! -

• Prcic, sir! Prcic! That's my last name. Prkić would be ... let's see ... as a background, let's say ... Prkno is a backbone with us, forgive me. And Prcic - well, you are, sorry, sweet tooth for a woman's thing. -

• So, Safet, - calmly and wisely, Lojze started from afar - every day you, hop - across the state border? -

• Everyone, everyone, my lord! Can't you see me? Well, I'm not a bitch. Here we meet there and a full year! -

- Lojza's eyebrows rise on their own.

• Really? That much... ? -

Surprised by the claim of a zealous customs officer. He didn't think that Safet had been crossing the border in the morning for so long, but they greeted him and sent him from one side to the other every day due to the division of shifts.

• Full! And twenty-two days come. Of course, sir!

• Ah? Lojze nodded, recovering. "You count them carefully ..." he asked abruptly.

The man smiled naively and spread his arms.

- Bricks don't lie: three hundred and sixty-five, plus another twenty-two!" And no confirmation of those broken ... - he added, lowering his voice.

Lojze looked at him, looked at his colleague, and shook his head solemnly.

• We have a recorder! - he announced ironically and at the same time surprisingly true.

The cyclists turned again.

- Every day ?

The man confirmed.

• Because of ... bricks? All day by bike? She raised an eyebrow and looked at him in disbelief.

• Sir, I have no business. Well, when that's the case, I think, at least I'll reward the house ...

Impressed by his incomprehensible philosophy of life, the customs officer stared at him for a moment. Plump Marko went behind him and began to look at the package located and tied on the backpack, behind the sic.

• Brick, Safet?

• 100 % correct - a brick! Said the man sharply and solemnly.

• Why, Safet, don't you buy it in Pula?

• We don't have one like this European one! My house is not going to be bulit with this Croatian one, I'm telling you! -

• You will build it quickly ... - the policeman said cynically, looking at the customs officer with complicity.

• "The one who hurried broke his neck," said the man calmly. - But once we enter Europe, - he giggled triumphantly - the house will be like a palace! -

The officers burst out laughing. Laughing, the plump policeman slapped his palm on his knee. The customs officer came to his senses first.

• Bosnia ? I really don't know what Europe has to offer ... - he said resignedly, with a mournful sneer.

• Bosnia, and Croatia! And unhappy Serbia. Spirit, spirit, sir! She desperately lacks spirit. -

• Only if he is a Saint, my Safet - the cheerful policeman choked again.

• No, no Marko! Now the pyramids were coming - as a warning, and the customs officer said with pathos.

• Really ?! Bosnian ... marifetluk *! Once again! Marko accepted, then shook his head.

• Uhh, man !? Marifetluk is to you: a little secret, behind three hundred locks! A fool can't think of a trick! He needs a spirit, healthy and rich, and given by God. -

Lojze suddenly became serious. What did they need to think of with the simple? A little fun, all right. But wasting time ...

• Safet ... - he will in an official tone. - We have to look at the brick. - To rage! He thought, taking the package from the briefcase. - It is impossible that there is nothing in it this time either! He wears one every day !? Building a house? Witness for young children! -

• Again, right? Work on professional service, sir! We know the price list: you pay three hundred cents for a destroyed quality European brick. Per piece. I will not sue Slovenia, because construction is slowing down ... - the man declares conciliatory and generous.

• Europe now, Safet! Slovenia is ... in Schengen - the policeman said a little.

* hoax, deliberate fraud

* * *

They studied the broken and crumbled brick laid on a white towel spread on the table for a long time. Under his fingers he checked the material from which it was baked, at the tip of his tongue he finally tasted the taste of that powder. He found nothing. She was not radioactive. There were no drugs in it either. The clerk's jaw eventually took on a longer shape, and his face looked disappointed.

"Safet ..." the customs officer said.

- Should I undress, sir? The man asked patiently.

The officer silently confirmed. Shrugging, he turned and began to undress. He put his clothes on a hanger in the corner. When he was left naked, as if born of a mother, he put his hands on his genitals and turned to the officers. Marko took his clothes, began to search them carefully. Lojze joined him. They found nothing. They looked eachother quick, resigned.

• A bike ! Said the customs officer.

They went outside, and the man began to get dressed. He didn't seem the least bit upset, as he laced the laces on his shoes under his voice he sang his song. Officers dismantled the entire bike. He also blew out the tires and inspected them, but found nothing there either. They began to knock on the hollow metal parts of the structure. Marko raised an eyebrow questioningly and looked at his colleague.

• To cut?

Lojze kept tapping the with metal key and listening carefully to the sound. Soon he just shook his head. He looked at the policeman and with his finger on his already sweaty forehead he lifted the brim of his official hat.

"There's nothing ..." he said.

A newcomer stood calmly next to them, looking for an hour at one, then at the other.

- You know, sir, when Suljo was stopped by a policeman on a bicycle? And he writes him a sentence: first - that he doesn't have a dynamo, so his light doesn't work, second - that he doesn't have a fender, third - that he has a bad brake ... And he, forgive me, bursts out laughing. What are you laughing at, are you crazy, the policeman asks? How can I not, he says. There's Mujo, he doesn't have a bike! How much will he pay, poor mother !? -

The customs officer rose from the ground and stared at the man.

• If you smuggle anything, you are committing a crime! Is that clear to you ?! He shouted angrily now.

With a vague expression on his face, the cyclist scratched his head.

• It is a crime for me when a man is harmed, and someone, God forbid regarding this, does evil to him. Smuggling? That is when the state sets the limit for a living person. They are not, people cattle in the pen to fence themselves. A man is born to be ... free as a bird! For the bird border shouldn't exist!

• Oh, no, Safet! And Europe without borders must have borders! Said the policeman angrily.

• I'll catch you already, Safet! Be sure. You will be my thousandth offender, I will receive the reward on you - seemingly calm, and the customs officer addressed him with burning pupils.

• You see, sir! That's the difference between you and me. I wouldn't hurt you. If you, sir, reported me for anything, you would imprison me.

• I will do this as soon as I become sure that you are harming the Union! - Louise raised her voice.

The cyclist spread his arms.

• And what is that to you, again? Is it a human being? Could that Union, we say, be touched by the hand, like you to me, or I to you? It's all made up for you, my lord, so that you can rule each other. And states, and alliances, and unions. You see, I'm like a bicycle, slowly, from state to state. And nowhere do I collide with anyone, or with a border like that, or hit my head! It means that they, brajko, air and lies alone, are invented, as I have already told you. But do you believe in God, sir?

• I'm an atheist. How do I believe what I don't see? -

• And you believe in the state. You don't see her either, and you again! A living man is the measure of everything, my lord! Insani, not the state. They are all fogs and mists, and big, colorful, inflated lies, sir, you are not dear to him! -

* * *

• Guvernal, frame, wheels, seat. Chain, dunes, light ... "Cat's eyes" ... It's all there! - the man said conciliatory and almost cheerfully, staring at the reassembled bicycle.

Two officers stood gloomily beside him. They kept their hands behind their backs, the way the Marines lined up on the great American aircraft carriers for the high seas trying to keep their balance. As he rode his vehicle, one of them handed him his passport and ID. The man looked at them, and began to spell words above the seal, deeply imprinted in him.

• A f-f-fee ... f-for ... a br-o-ken ... brick! Sa-fet Pr-cic! Side street. N-n-number 20! Pu-la, C-cro-atia!

He looked at the customs officers.

• Everything is fine again, sir! You crushed, but you paid fairly. What are you - yes! One hundred and first, but also three cents - he swings his leaf in the air. - I can't say, I'm sinning my soul. Now, stay healthy, see you!

* anger

* a man

He turned his bicycle and was about to turn the pedals, when the customs officer leaned over to the policeman and quietly, uncertainly whispered a single word in his ear.

- a spy... ?

He jerked at it as if stabbed and called to the man.

- Safet! Can you give us your cell phone number? The devil knows ... He may need it.

- A cell phone? I don't have it! Why should I need it? Those prophets, the Serbs, the Tarabic brothers, called him a "falcon" a long time ago.

The man raises his hand in greeting, riding his bicycle, but somehow moderately loud and fast, nothing too pronounced in his movements. The only thing was that the bicycle was moving a little to the side, for an hour to one, then to the other. The way he would use one foot to push one of the two pedals.

Lojze raises an eyebrow.

Bosnian is smuggling something, but what ?! No man is a Phantom, everything is known! The customs officer's words rang out like a solemn oath.

• Da zna zoora, da zna zoora... – the song started slowly again, it blew through the air, and Lojza felt as if someone had slapped him well.

• Koju draagu ljuubiim jaaa... – a powerful voice came to life again.

- It was said ... Through Bosnia, don't sing! Said the policeman with a confession.

As the bike got lost in the distance, Lojze remembered the days of her youth. First loves, dancers. Songs of "Index", "Bijelo Dugme", "Divlje Jagode", "Crvene Jabuke", "Zdravko Colic", Kemal Monteno ... which came from the strange land of Bosnia. Yes, this Bosnia is strange! There is something in it, which is not bad, and it is difficult to understand! It is possible that this is the undefined, barbaric charm of the Balkans.

He remembered he should have asked him about the cheese. It was extremely tasty. Spicy, but again with moderation. Lojza's brother was a buyer of everything from the former republics of the former state. He would make good money if he knew where to get it. The customs officer sighed. He'll do it as soon as tomorrow. He knew that in the morning Safet would emerge from the fog on the Slovenian side again.

* * *

Some five or six kilometers behind the Croatian border, on a small rest area along the road, a white van with Pula license plates was parked. The bicycle and the man appeared behind the curve, in their constant, somewhat awkward, but sure pace and rhythm of movement. They rolled to the van, then the deep-grooved wheels stopped in place. The man slowly stepped away from the sieve and pushed it to the sliding door of the vehicle. He dissolved them in one stroke, then slid him into the back seat. Behind the wheel sat a younger, black-haired man, who turned and looked at him brightly.

• Good morning Safet!

• - Good Morning Petar!

• One more !? I can not believe it ! - staring at the brightly polished, new bicycle, the young rider announced with sincere enthusiasm and joy in his voice.

• Brand new! The man said contentedly, sitting in the passenger seat.

• Well done ! Mountain bikes are selling like crazy. How do you just carry them in front of your customs ?!

• I do not carry them. They just go by themselfs" !

The man laughed good-naturedly, sweetly and mangupically, and closed the sliding door of the vehicle with one stroke.

• It's like fishing! The most important thing is to come early, while they are still yawning! And not even the glare of the sun reflecting from the new bike's frame provokes their eyes!

The driver also laughed, made a grimace of misunderstanding, shook his head in confession, released the clutch, and started the vehicle by pressing the accelerator pedal. The white van jumped, climbed the asphalt road and lost in the direction of the sea between the Istrian forests.