Mother Tongue

by Tania Romanov

  CHAPTER TEN

  Zora finds her way

  By the time it was over, more than one million people died in Yugoslavia during the Second World War.

  Seventeen when it started, Zora became an adult during the war. Surrounded by the enemy, she just kept her head down. Her protests were mostly silent, or in discussions with close friends. They managed to turn the phrase “Heil Hitler” into a sarcastic curse in their language, but participated in no active rebellion.

  The sisters and their families were out of touch with each other for much of the duration, but when they finally all reconnected, they were relieved to learn that everyone had survived. Slowly, they once again picked up their lives and moved on.

  By 1943, the resistance movement was spreading throughout the country, and two years later the fighting was over, the Germans defeated. In the end, the Partisan resistance, mostly Serbs, joined with the Communists under the Croatian-born leader Marshall Josip Broz Tito, to help the United States and its allies drive the Germans out of the country in 1945. More deaths followed as accused collaborators from all the republics were killed in retribution, along with many innocent people.

  When it was over, a new Yugoslavia was formed. Six fairly independent republics—Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Macedonia, Bosnia and Montenegro—were united under one government. Kosovo and Vojvodina were named autonomous provinces under the Republic of Serbia. Thus emerged the new Communist country, the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia.

  The new capital was Belgrade, in Serbia. By law Serbia was an equal republic to Croatia and the others. But many Croatians were outraged with the outcome. The Nazis were defeated, but the leadership was back in Serbia. Many Croats, mostly Ustaše, left the country to agitate through an international terrorist movement for separation. They would continue that agitation for years.

  Although Martin and Katarina lived in Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, they had never identified with the separatist Croatians or the Ustaše. They were relieved to have the family safe under one flag. They favored the union and wanted Yugoslavia to go forward as one country. Their great concern now was the return of Istria from the Italians.

  For Zora, all opportunity for further education had dissolved with the war. Transition from schoolgirl to a significant contributor to the family finances had been the only option. She had always kept her dreams of advanced studies in mathematics a secret, but now that it was over she wanted to find work more challenging than her clerical assignments.

  The population of Yugoslavia celebrated the end of the war and young people, especially, tried to forget those years of hardship and focus on moving forward. Zora knew she wanted more out of life. But it wasn't always easy to balance a desire for a challenging position with wanting a carefree existence, especially with fear no longer hanging over their heads.

  Vibrant, petite and attractive, now in her early twenties, Zora had plenty of admirers. Her dark hair and eyes complemented her smooth creamy skin. In spite of ongoing shortages, she always looked classy. She had learned to sew her own clothes, carefully following newsreels to see the latest styles, as much as for the news. She was thrilled when she could replace the heavy walking shoes of the war with a pair of handmade leather slippers with a nice heel.

  She wanted a large family like the one she grew up in, but was in no hurry to start. Handsome men would show up regularly to take her to a café or out dancing. Her sisters teased her about one particular blond fellow who seemed to hover protectively, but she insisted she preferred taller men, and dark hair.

  The country’s leadership, meanwhile, was working to reconstruct the economy after the war and move forward technologically. National services, starting with energy and telecommunications, were being reestablished.

  One evening, a year or so after the war’s end, Katarina was preparing dinner in the kitchen of their small apartment near the heart of Zagreb when Zora came home from her job. Martin was back from work and sat at the table, as he often did, smoking one of his handmade cigarettes and talking. He looked up and smiled at his daughter, who looked particularly beautiful in a stylish dark blue wool dress that dropped just below the knee.

  “Mama, Tata, I have a new job.” She could hardly contain herself, needing to tell them all about it. She quickly pulled off her hat and jacket, and filled a glass with water as she prepared to launch into her planned conversation.

  “What kind of job?” Martin looked at her questioningly.

  “It's very exciting. My friend's father works as a manager in the telecommunications headquarters, and he introduced me to the head of the switchboard operators.” Here she paused as if announcing a news headline.

  “I will be a long distance operator.”

  The silence grew. She was about to fill it when her mother finally said, “But Zora, we don't even have a telephone. What do you know about long distance switchboards?”

  Zora laughed. She knew her mother didn't understand her love of mathematics and technical things. Mama was from a different generation, a different world. But Zora had waited a long time for this opportunity. The new systems were now being installed all over the country. This, she believed, was the technology that was going to change the world. She was going to be in on the beginning.

  “Oh, Mama, I don’t need to know anything; I will be learning on the job. But they gave me a test and they said I passed with great results. You know I love using my mind that way. And besides,” she added, jumping up in her excitement, “soon we will have a phone.”

  “Really?” Now it was her father’s turn. This was the first Martin had heard of it. None of their neighbors had a phone. “Why would we need one?”

  “Well. The office has to be able to reach me in case of an emergency. We will be moved to the top of the list as soon as I've finished my first, probationary, month.”

  “Are you sure we should have a phone in the house? Are they safe? I’ve heard they let off some kind of fumes,” said Katarina.

  “Oh, those are old wives’ tales, Mama. Phones are completely safe; they’ve been around for a long time.” Zora knew that their country needed to progress after all the chaos with the war. The new Communist government was pushing for these advances.

  “Aren’t you thinking about going back to school, going to university, Zora? You had hoped to do that before the war.” Katarina remembered Zora’s ambitions from years ago.

  “No, Mama,” Zora shook her head dismissively. “I am too old for that. Besides, I think I can learn just as much and make progress while I am working. That way I can earn a living at the same time.”

  “Please, Zora,” interjected her father, “be careful you don’t push too hard. You know the vlasti—the powers—won’t let you advance too far if you aren’t in the party.” When someone said vlasti, it was known that it was the Communist party they meant. Zora knew her father feared the Communists and didn’t want to be too closely linked to them. He no longer trusted government of any kind and wanted nothing more than a low profile for his family. Zora had thought this through carefully. She knew that party membership was both a way to succeed and something to be cautious of. She had no intention of joining, but believed she could do well anyway.

  “Tata, I am so tired of thinking about what the vlasti will or will not allow. During the war it was the Germans, now it’s the Communists or the government in Belgrade. I am just going to do a great job and think about what is possible rather than what is not allowed. I’m tired of all that. I'm not just a little mouse waiting to be stepped on!”

  She regretted her words the minute she said them. Her parents had been through a lot and she didn't want to seem critical, or dismissive of their fears. But it was a new world, and she wanted to be part of it. Her father, however, surprised her.

  “You’re right, duša,” said Martin, nodding his head, as if at an old memory and smiling. He was remembering himself, as a young man, leaving Istria rather than being walked all over by Mussolini. “You’re young, and you
see your life in front of you. I have seen too many things fall apart in my life. I’ll just have to try to look at the world through your eyes.” But it was hard for him to keep from worrying about life going out of their control. It had happened so often before.

  “Thank you, Tata. Have faith in me.”

  “Will you be working for the government?”

  “Yes. Well, for the Postal and Telegraph Service, but that is part of the government.”

  “Does that mean you have to join the Communist Party?”

  Martin really couldn’t let go of his discomfort. He had no love for Marshall Tito and his links to the Soviet Union. He was tired of politics, and war, and all the turbulence.

  “No, Tata, I don’t.” Zora was about to continue when the door burst open and her sisters Milena and Ljuba walked in. The two of them couldn’t have been more different. At twenty, Milena had the dark Marinovič hair and eyes, but she was short and plump and soft, with a ready smile and always something funny, yet biting, to say. She had never had any ambitions beyond marriage and children. Ljuba was her opposite in every way. All edges and angles, her appearance was defined as much by her glasses as by the briefcase she carried with her everywhere. Although only eighteen, she was the most ambitious of the girls. Her clothes were no-nonsense, and she didn’t give them any thought, happy when Zora offered to sew something for her.

  Ljuba was the one, they all knew, who would be able to take advantage of this new world that was emerging after the war. The youngest daughter, she was finishing secondary school, and had always just assumed she would continue on to University. She wanted to work in the advanced medical research lab that was one of Zagreb’s most prestigious institutions.

  “Why are you home so early, Zora?” asked Milena, who clearly hadn’t expected to see her.

  “I have a new job at the telephone exchange,” exclaimed Zora.

  “What will you be doing?” asked Ljuba. She shared Zora’s passion for mathematics and science. Zora had always helped her with her schoolwork until it became clear Ljuba no longer needed any help and was, in fact, surpassing her tutor in knowledge. By now Zora knew she would never catch up with her little sister. But she was determined to progress in her own way.

  “Well,” she replied, “I will be working on the main switchboard for the whole country.”

  “Does that mean all phone calls will go through you?” asked Ljuba.

  Most homes in Yugoslavia didn’t have telephones yet, and calling a foreign country was exotic. People just wrote letters. A phone call could be made from the central headquarters, but it was prohibitively expensive.

  “No. With today’s technology, most local calls are connected directly. Only long distance calls go through the switchboard. We are already connected to almost all the countries in the world.”

  “Which countries will you work with?” asked Ljuba, clearly excited about this new opportunity for Zora. She dreamed of going to England to study some day. Having a sister in the telecommunications hub of the country could be an asset.

  “Well, I will be responsible for the calls to Belgrade, where they can be redirected to the rest of the country.” It was a very important connection, especially since all the Yugoslav government offices were in Belgrade.

  “So will you be able to talk to Slavića and Jana?” asked Milena, the link to family igniting a little interest.

  “No, they don’t have phones yet, either. I will mostly be talking to people who are working on the exchange. Maybe to some in businesses or government agencies. I’ll know more after I start.”

  “When is that?” asked Katarina.

  “Well, I told them I would be available in two weeks. I already resigned at the office, and they told me I could leave at the end of the week.”

  “That’s exciting, Zora. I wish I knew someone who could help me get a job like that,” said Milena, with a smile. But her mind seemed elsewhere.

  “You know that’s not true, Milena,” exclaimed Zora. Milena had been seeing Dule, a colleague, for some time already. “You want to get married and have babies, not have a career!”

  “That is true, and . . .” Milena didn’t get to finish before Ljuba interrupted, wanting to learn more about Zora’s new job.

  “But, Zora, you speak Hungarian and a bit of Italian. Won’t you get to work in the foreign section?”

  “Maybe later, Ljuba. Right now I need to get trained. Besides, I like the idea of starting with Belgrade, where everything is based. I might be able to visit the headquarters there. Then I could see our Jana and her children.”

  “Will you be working at the large building downtown?”

  “Yes, the telephone exchange is on the second floor. It’s one of the historic buildings of Zagreb, you know,” said Zora.

  “But Zora,” interjected Martin, “that building was bombed during the war. Has that all been repaired? Is it safe?”

  “It’s not just repaired, Tata; it’s been extensively modernized.” She knew they had some of the newest technologies in the country because of the reconstruction work that had been done. “They redesigned the whole second floor around the new long distance and international capabilities.”

  “Now, you’re sure about this Communist Party thing?” Martin just couldn’t stop worrying about it.

  “Oh yes, Tata. My friend’s father has a very good job there, and he told me he is not a party member.”

  Zora didn’t tell her father that the man had also suggested she keep her head down and not get involved in political debates on the job.

  “And can they use the phone line to listen in on us when we get a phone?” Katarina asked.

  “Mama, I don’t think anyone wants to hear what we talk about. Especially if it’s Milena talking to Dule. Just think, Milena, you wouldn’t have to worry about where to meet him, you could just call.”

  “Well, that would be nice if they had a phone at his apartment,” said Milena, finally getting their attention. “Listen, everyone, this is great news from Zora, but I have good news, too.

  “Dule has proposed!” Milena almost shouted in her excitement.

  “Pa to je divno! But that’s wonderful!” Katarina leaped up and wrapped Milena in a big hug.

  “And did you accept?” Ljuba teased.

  “I didn’t have to. He knew my answer.”

  “When is the big day?”

  “Very soon. Dule’s mother can’t wait for us all to live together. She will move out of the bedroom and will have an alcove in the living room. So we can all stay in their apartment; it’s a good location, really close by.” The plan also neatly solved the problems with housing shortages rampant in the country. There were waiting lists, and they were particularly long in the cities.

  “That’s wonderful, draga,” Katarina was already walking toward the kitchen. “Bring him over tonight. We’ll celebrate over my sarme. You know how much he loves them.”

  “We all love your sarme,” said Martin. Katarina’s sarme were a unique take on the dish that wrapped meat and rice in cabbage. She brined her cabbage, so it was a bit tart, halfway to sauerkraut. It was something she had learned from a Hungarian neighbor when they lived in Petrovaradin.

  Martin too, hugged Milena. “I can’t wait to congratulate the lucky man who is getting my beautiful daughter. Make some extra sarme, Katarina; I’ve worked up an appetite just thinking about them.”

  Zora wiped a tear from her eye as they all hugged. She was embarrassed at how easily she teared up, her emotions showing. But these were tears of joy for her sister and for her own step into her future.

  “Are you upset, Zora?” asked her sister, misunderstanding her emotions.

  “No, Milena, I am thrilled. Why would I be upset?”

  “Well, you are older, and I thought you might wish to be married first. Not that you seem short of suitors.”

  “Oh, Milena, they are just friends.”

  “You always say that, but I’m not sure that’s all they want to be. They are
always hanging around you,” teased Ljuba.

  “I’m not ready to get married yet,” declared Zora. “I want to start my career and see some other places before I settle down.”

  “You always did know your own mind. I should have realized you wouldn’t mind.” Milena smiled as they hugged again.

  “You’ve always known what you wanted, too, Milena. And now you have it.”

  Milena went off to invite Dule to dinner, Ljuba returned to her schoolwork. Zora went into the kitchen to join her mother in cooking the sarme. Zora was already a good cook. She had grown up in her mother’s kitchen, after all. She started chopping the onions, and Katarina prepared the cabbage leaves.

  “Be sure you chop them really fine,” said Katarina. “You know your father doesn’t like it when he can taste the onions.”

  “I know, I know, Mama. How many times have I watched you do it?”

  “Hundreds, I suppose. You always liked spending time in the kitchen when you were younger. Maybe you’ll run a restaurant some day.”

  “I don’t think so. But I do like baking torte, cakes. Should I make one for the lovebirds?”

  “That’s a great idea. We have some fresh eggs. I think there are eight.”

  “Great. We can make your usual krem torta, cream cake, for eight.” It was the simplest torta, three layers with a rich cream in between—chocolate when there was cocoa—but it was a tradition in the family to have it whenever eggs were available and there was something to celebrate. It required one egg for each serving, and the eggs had to be separated. Zora got to work on the torta, the two of them talking the whole time.

  “Zorića, I have an idea for you,” her mother said, without pausing in her work.

  “Yes?” Zora said, turning to look at her mother.

  Katarina hesitated. “I’d like to go home, to Istria, to visit Medulin,” she said at last.