The ski-jumper from Kazakhstan

When Johannes got off the train at Lillehammer station, he was scared. He had come all the way from Kazakhstan to jump during the winter Olympic games. But he had never seen such a big and scary ski-jump asd that he saw from the station. When he came to the ticket-box he bowed and said: "My name is Johannes. I'm the ski jumper from Kazakhstan. The ski-jump that I see from here, is not the one I will have to jump from is it?"

"It certainly is," the lady said. "A polite young man like yourself will undoubtedly be one of the best." "But I have never jumped in such a big ski-jump before," Johannes mumbled while biting his lip. "You'd better be off and practice before the contest then," the lady said and waved him off.

When Johannes came to the ski-jump, he saw the famous ski-jumpers from Norway, Sweden, Germany and Japan jumping their test jumps. They seemed so sure of themselves and jumped so elegantly that Johannes didn't dare to tell them how afraid he was. He tried to look self-assured while he followed the other jumpers into the lift that took them to the top. When he came out and saw how high it was he felt dizzy, clinging to his skis. He shivered and his heart beat hard in his chest.

Behind him came Espen Bredesen, a famous Norwegian jumper. Johannes took a deep breath, fastened his skis and sat down on the plank high on the ramp. He was so scared that he nearly wet his trousers. The track lay steep in front of him, disappearing out from the ridge - into nothing.

Johannes started to shake. He grasped the plank and whispered: "I can't. I can't." The light shifted from red to green, and everyone expected him to stand up for the downward run. This was only a test, nothing that professional jumpers needed to worry about. But Johannes worried a lot. He sat paralysed on the plank, looking out over Lillehammer town and lake Mjøsa.

"Are you OK?" Espen Bredesen shouted. Then Johannes realised that this was his last chance. If he didn't set off, they would send him home. But he couldn't go home, because everyone in Kazakhstan was waiting for him to jump in the contest - expecting him to win. In a sudden vision he saw himself standing on the rostrum with a medal round his neck. Encouraged by this vision he stood up on his skis and set off towards the ramp.

He bent his knees and back while his head filled with less victorious images. He saw himself lying in a coffin, passing by the lady in the ticket box and being put aboard the train to Kazakhstan. It was such a horrible sight that he closed his eyes tightly. At the same moment he shot off the ramp. He didn't open his eyes until he felt firm ground under his feet. "I managed," he whispered to himself while he made an elegant turn and stopped by the lift.

Johannes smiled proudly, having dared to jump in such a big ski-jump. But the other contestants thought his smile meant that he was planning to win. They stared at the self-satisfied guy from Kazakhstan and thought exactly the same. How embarrassing to lose against someone from Kazakhstan, a country hardly anybody had heard of. Espen Bredesen frowned and gazed over the grandstand. Every seat was taken. Even on the fields below people were standing shoulder to shoulder. They waved the Norwegian flag and rang cow bells while they shouted:

Bredesen
Bredesen
Bredesen

The last but one contestant in the first run was Espen Bredesen. He sat off while the audience screamed with joy. Thousands of excited voices seemed to lift him off the ramp and held him in the air on a long "aaaaaaaaaaaa," all 120 meters in perfect jumping style.

Can you guess who was to jump after him? Yes, it was Johannes. And this time he wasn't afraid at all. He bent his knees, accelerating down the ramp and jumped the best he could. But the ski-jump in Lillehammer was so very different from the slope in Kazakhstan. His legs slid apart, his arms began to wave. He leapt forward, the skis hanging after him, and not long after his head was below his feet. Arms and legs filtered into each other so the judges had difficulties deciding if he landed on one ski and an arm or one ski and a forehead.

The audience laughed as much at Johannes as they had rejoiced at Espen Bredesen. Johannes sat down in the snow at the end of the landing slope. Each time he looked up there was a blitz of camera flashlights. Everyone wanted a picture of the silly jumper from Kazakhstan. Every TV-camera was pointed at the crying little man.

Johannes thought of his mother and father at home in Kazakhstan. He knew they had seen his terrible jump on TV and that they heard the audience laughing. "I've made a fool of myself in the face of the whole world," he cried. "Everybody must think that people from Kazakhstan are stupid, just because of me." Johannes crawled to the stand and tried to sneak away while the audience rejoiced over Espen Bredesens fine results.

But Johannes was spotted in the crowd. "Look, there's the scarecrow," somebody shouted. "Where are you going bullfinch?" said another. "You aren't to cheat us for another dive are you, penguin?" The audience became hysterical when they heard somebody call him penguin. "We want Penguin, we want Penguin," they shouted whilst laughing uproariously. Somebody lifted Johannes up in the air and carried him to the lift.

Johannes hit and kicked, but couldn't avoid being placed on the plank. On the stand people shouted steadily: "Jump Penguin, jump Penguin." He knew that nearly every person in the world was watching him at this moment. Everyone could see his tears and hear the people shouting "Penguin" at him. For the rest of his life he would be known as the penguin from Lillehammer. He who had the guts to jump in this monster ski-jump, and that was far more than any of the jesters on the stand would ever dare to do.

These thoughts made him very angry. "I'll show you, cowards," he whispered between his teeth and went higher. He climbed up on to the roof over the little house on the top of the ski-jump. As high as he could get, he kicked back at the flagpole, dived down on the ramp, bent down on his skis and accelerated like a rocket towards the edge - and this time he did everything right. With all his strength he pushed up at the right moment. He leaned on his skis so that his back and the skis formed the shape of a wing.

Nobody had ever seen such a jump. The Audiences "aaaaaaaaaa," went on far longer than the one they gave Espen Bredesen. Johannes flew over the landing slope, over the stand, over the Olympic flame and over the fields below. He held his style over the famous Maihaugen, over the central hospital of the region, until he landed perfectly at the railroad station.

People were in ecstasy. "Johannes from Kazakhstan, the best ski jumper ever," reporters shouted. "Never ever has anybody jumped so far," they said on TV. In Kazakhstan the whole nation stood in front of their TV-sets shouting: "Hurrah for Johannes." The audience on the stand rubbed their eyes in disbelief. "Was that Penguin?" Everybody started to run down the hillside towards Maihaugen, the Central Hospital and Lillehammer railway station.

But there, on the platform, Johannes wrapped up his skis and bowed in front of the ticket-box. "How did it work out?" the lady smiled. "Not too bad," Johannes said. "But now I want to go home to my family." The lady gave him a ticket and Johannes swung himself on the train before anybody could stop him. "Come back, come back, so we can give you a medal," they shouted. But Johannes just smiled and waved at them. When they were out of sight, he sat down in a chair and fell asleep.

And if you want to know, his medal was sent by post and waited for him in his room when he came back to his mother and father in Kazakhstan.

© Martin Nygaard