「March 2002. Nem Port, Bosnia and Herzegovina.」
Along the long, narrow coastal plain, the Dilmathia Coast was the region’s prime location for port development.
But of this extensive coastline, Bosnia and Herzegovina was left with just 24 kilometers and a single harbor: Nem Port.
It was also the only port of departure for the fishermen and fleets of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Night fell. The sky was dotted with stars, a bright moon radiating its silvery glow amidst them.
But its faint light could not dispel the dark stillness of the vast sea.
A lighthouse stood guard over a sea horizon that seemed ready to devour all in its path.
The faint light from its lamp was the sole source of illumination on the dark surface of the sea.
Flashing on and off, the light served as the only landmark on the dark expanse of water, as if welcoming sailors home.
Before long, a low horn blast shattered the sea’s silence.
BWOOOOOOOOM—
The low drone of the horn rolled onward, soon reaching the harbor.
In an instant, the quiet port burst into a flurry of activity.
Floodlights blazed to life overhead, and workers and sailors, roused from their sleep, began to stir.
"They’re back! The fleet’s back in port!"
"Everybody up! Time to get to work!"
"Get up, get up! The fleet’s back!"
The workers rose, one after another, expertly pulling on waterproof bibs and rain boots. They grabbed wheelbarrows from the side, gripping the handles tightly, ready to charge out at a moment’s notice.
These port workers all had skin tanned dark by the sun and sported messy hair, but their eyes were sharp as they stared intently at the returning fleet.
But among the crowd, one figure stood out.
He was a boy of about 150 centimeters, with yellow skin and black hair. A pair of oversized waterproof bibs engulfed his scrawny frame. The straps were tied as tightly as possible, knotted at his sides to hoist the garment up, but even so, the crotch sagged low, making him look like a little dwarf.
Despite the comical sight, the surrounding workers paid him no mind.
The little fellow had a round head and chubby cheeks, looking to be about twelve or thirteen. Yet, his gaze was fixed ahead with fierce determination, as if he meant to carve a path for himself through the throng of workers.
Just then, the fishing boats began to enter and dock at the port. At a shouted order from a supervisor up ahead, the workers surged forward like a bursting dam.
"Here I come!"
"First come, first served!"
"Slowpokes get nothing!"
The workers pushed their wheelbarrows and sprinted forward. In a port that lacked mechanized equipment, manual labor was the most reliable means of transport.
These workers gathered here every time the fleet returned. After all, a single load earned them 10 Marks, and a few trips could equal half a month’s wages.
That was why every return of the fleet was a prime opportunity for these men to make some quick cash.
Soon, the fastest workers broke away from the pack to form a lead group, and surprisingly, the boy was right there with them.
The boy’s legs were short, but his feet moved with incredible speed. He pushed his wheelbarrow, weaving nimbly through the crowd to avoid bumping into the brawnier workers, all while keeping pace with the lead group.
The lead group of workers quickly reached the boats.
The boy found a boat moored at the pier and shouted, "Kovic! Hurry! Load me up!"
A head popped out from the boat. It belonged to a young man of about twenty-five wearing a sailor’s cap. Seeing the boy, he couldn’t help but laugh. "Hey! Suk, long time no see!"
"Long time no see, hurry and load up!"
The boy named Suk gave a dismissive wave and urged him again.
Kovic shrugged and turned to shout, "Captain, get ready to load!"
A man with a thick beard chuckled, then called out, "Alright, lads! Suk’s here to rush us!"
His words were met with a wave of laughter from the crew.
Suk’s chubby face showed a hint of annoyance, but the crewmen worked quickly. They opened the hold, did a quick sort of the catch, and shoveled a portion of it into his wheelbarrow. Suk slapped a wooden board over the top, then turned and bolted for the other side.
Suk was agile, but his body clearly hadn’t finished growing, and he was incredibly weak. As a result, pushing the loaded wheelbarrow was a huge strain. His speed dropped drastically, and he was soon left in the dust by the other workers.
Staring at the distant drop-off point under the lights, Suk couldn’t help but mutter a curse.
’Stupid port. Why did they have to put the drop-off point so far away!’
He cursed under his breath, but his legs kept churning, pushing forward with all their might. Unfortunately, his short legs couldn’t maintain their high frequency under the heavy load, and by the end of the run, he had fallen to the very back of the pack.
CLATTER! SPLAT!
Suk reached the drop-off area. A row of ten large troughs were marked 1 through 10. A tallyman sat opposite each one, recording a worker’s name after each completed delivery.
Suk’s movements were fluid. He quickly wedged the wheelbarrow’s wheel against a wooden beam, jerked the handles upward, and dumped the entire catch into a plastic trough. Then he immediately spun around and sprinted back.
"Suk! One trip!"
The tallyman across from the trough noted it down quietly.
Thanks to the workers’ diligent efforts, the entire catch was moved in just under an hour.
With the hauling done, it was time for everyone’s favorite part: getting paid.
The morning sun bathed the port in light. Merchants happily packed up their fish, ready for sale. Some local residents also came to buy parts of the catch to sell at the market.
The entire port became even more bustling.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the port, the workers had formed a long line. A foreman at the front was handing out their pay.
"Sesik, 15 trips, 150 Marks!"
A Bosniak man beamed as he took the money from the foreman. After a quick count, he happily turned and left. This single morning of hard labor was worth half a month’s salary to him.
"Svicko, 13 trips, 130 Marks!"
This was a man of Croat descent. Bosnia and Herzegovina shares a border with Croatia, and many Croats came to find work there.
One by one, the workers collected their wages in an orderly fashion.
Soon, the diminutive Suk stood before the foreman.
The man glanced at Suk, counted out a few bills, and said, "Suk, 10 trips, 100 Marks!"
Suk’s eyes flew open. "That’s not right!" he said loudly. "I made twelve trips. You shorted me by two."
The foreman frowned. "The record says ten trips. It’s perfectly clear."
"He recorded it wrong!" Suk shouted. "You can’t just dock my pay! If you do this, who’s going to want to work here?"
The foreman’s expression was cold and indifferent, and the workers in line behind Suk were starting to look impatient.
But Suk refused to back down. The little guy wasn’t tall, but his voice was loud and clear, and it quickly attracted a crowd of curious onlookers.
Seeing the growing crowd, the foreman found the situation becoming troublesome. He leaned down and said to Suk in a cold voice, "It’s ten trips. If you want to keep this job, take the money and scram!"
The man’s eyes were full of threat. Suk glanced down at the money, finally snatched it, and shot the foreman an obscene gesture before turning and storming off.
Discretion is the better part of valor. Suk knew that if he kept pushing, he wouldn’t just lose the money—he’d likely get a beating, too.
With Suk’s departure, the little drama ended, and the workers went back to lining up for their pay.
Suk went and sat on a step at the edge of the port. He looked down at the money in his hand, a look of pity on his face. ’Twenty Marks short... that’s a whole ten glasses of milk!’
’That black-hearted Harun. Why’d he have to single me out?’
The more Suk thought about it, the more dejected he became, his little head drooping in frustration.
"Losing a little money is better than losing the job."
Suddenly, a voice spoke up next to him.
Suk turned to see Kovic, the young man from the boat, standing beside him.
Kovic threw the milk in his hand over. Seeing the milk, Suk’s eyes lit up. He immediately caught it, twisted open the cap, and tilted his head back to chug it down.
Watching Suk drain the bottle, Kovic looked him up and down. "How have you not grown at all? I was already over 170 centimeters when I was sixteen."
"I’ll grow!" Suk licked the milk from his lips and said earnestly, "I’m just a late bloomer."
Kovic grinned. "Who would believe this 150-centimeter pipsqueak is a professional player in Bosnia and Herzegovina’s third-tier league?"
Suk wagged his index finger. "The top scorer," he corrected seriously.
Kovic raised an eyebrow. "How many goals have you scored this season?"
"Eight goals so far!"
"The league’s about twelve matches in, right?" Kovic asked, slightly surprised.
Suk corrected, "Eleven matches, eight goals!"
Kovic gave a thumbs up: "Impressive."
Suk turned and smiled. "If a guy like me is still sticking with it, have you ever thought about coming back?"
Kovic laughed. "Play football? I’m twenty-five and still in the third tier. Calling it the ’third tier’ is generous. In all of Bosnia and Herzegovina, anything below the Super League is basically amateur. I don’t want to have to work odd jobs just to support my football career."
Suk said, "I still miss your passing. Those flamboyant long passes!"
Kovic smiled and sat down beside Suk. "I’ve given up on football. I think I made the right decision. You should be happy for me."
Suk sighed. "Alright, then I’m happy for you."
After a pause, Suk turned to Kovic and smiled. "As a former teammate, can you do me a favor?"
Kovic was curious. "What favor?"
A fierce look crossed Suk’s youthful face. He said viciously, "Be my witness. I’m going to report Harun for hiring child labor!"
Kovic’s jaw dropped. "You’re serious?" he asked in astonishment.
Suk said, "That bastard has shorted me a lot of pay. I’m going to make him cough it all back up, and then some."