Free Tesla by Vladimir Pistalo

not just difficult. That’s impossible!”
    “We decide what’s possible!” slipped from Tesla’s mouth.
    Pöschl did not say a word, but his eyes grew warmer. The man who used to say, “I hate my students!” suddenly got confused. His piteous smile encompassed Tesla, Szigety, Pliniecki, and the rest of the large auditorium overflowing with youth.

CHAPTER 22

    And the Moon Is Your Neighbor
    After he finished his first two years of college in one and earned grades “better than the best,” Nikola went back home. Both his Militärgrenze 2 scholarship and his decision to study electrical engineering were now justified. Upon his return to Gospić, his neighbor Bjelobaba wondered, Is this the same one who went away?
    Mother cast a spell of cleanliness over the entire house. Each window, table, dresser, even the chest, was decorated with embroidery that her fingers—“nimble as fire”—had created. In Nikola’s childhood, Mother used to kiss him on the head while his hair was still warm from the sun and say, “Home is your home and the moon is your neighbor.” When he came back from Graz, she put her hand on his shoulder and surprised him by saying, “My Niko! You can’t do small things, but you can do great things.”
    And yet, something was strange. Father frowned, changed the subject, and avoided looking him in the eye.
    “Yes, I’m in good health.” Nikola was puzzled as he answered Father’s questions.
    When he found himself alone, Nikola made a face like he was about to play the trumpet and broke into tears.
    He still hasn’t gotten over Dane’s death , he thought. He’ll never accept me. I can’t replace Dane!
    In Graz he worked eighteen hours a day to please Father. He expected joy and recognition in return. And what did he get? Nothing!
    “So that’s how it is,” he whispered. “All right then…”
    After long months of nervous strain, Gospić made him feel drowsy. He snuggled under the bedcovers and pulled them up to his nose. His eyelids were heavy and sweet honey bound one thought to another. The stars in the sky over Lika buzzed like hornets, but they did not bother him in his sleep. The old wind groaned in the forests that God himself had forgotten. The language of dreams seemed to be the only real language, while everyday life looked like a foggy deception.
    “Hey, Nikola! Nikola!” Mother’s shouted. “Nikola!”
    “Who?” His hand reached out into empty space. Mist dissipated from his eyes, and he saw Mother’s dark eyes and understood the plea they conveyed.
    “Nikola, please wake up,” she said. “Your relatives are here to see you!
    Nikola got dressed and went down to the living room, where two oil lamps shed light on the dining table. The sons of his two aunts were sitting there. He was still sleepy and saw them as if in a dream.
    The posture of the first one, an officer, revealed a sense of natural pride. While they hugged each other ceremoniously, it occurred to Nikola that the currency of his cousin’s dignity was not gold standard. The self-sufficient reticence of the tall, mustached man appeared to be a virtue by and in itself. His body simply radiated a natural sense of pride that was almost palpable.
    The other cousin’s green eyes shone from dark circles. He was a village teacher. He smiled only with one side of his face, smoked cigarettes till they burned his lips, and crowed when he laughed. His insecurity made him boastful, so he never missed an opportunity to interrupt a conversation. “You are clueless,” he would say. “Let me tell you about that.”
    The third cousin was a chubby man with a startled demeanor. He smiled freely, with both sides of his face. He spent most of his life as a shepherd trilling after his flocks only to stun his family members when he joined the Herzegovina rebels as a volunteer in 1875. With a shocked expression, he told Nikola and his parents about the severed Serbian and Turkish heads he saw on stakes in Bosnia. He also