Now, I stood on the path beneath the pines with a small lump in my throat. I envied every single one of them. They were on holiday, a proper holiday, and they were enjoying it. Their thoughts must have completely dissolved in all this heat. Everything around them shouted sand, sex and sun. That can stamp out the worries of most people.
Our table was furthest from the conveyor belt where the food was dished up. I had to navigate through the restaurant holding a plate and cutlery. People were shoving. Everyone was hurrying towards the queue and several people cut in. They acted like they were afraid there would not be enough food.
‘Took you a long enough, didn’t it?’ Dad said when I sat down.
‘Why didn’t you just grab my serving?’
‘It’s one thing, you sleeping in till noon, young man. It’s another thing for your highness to have his own personal waiter. No chance.’
‘Listen, you two,’ Mum said. ‘Can’t I just eat in peace?’
The room echoed with creaking chairs and voices. Cutlery falling on the floor, a number of colourful expletives sliced through the air. I looked around. Mashed potato with tripe and onions steamed up in my face.
Sitting at another table, I spotted Samir, Damir and their parents. Were it not for their names and their long hair, you would never guess that they were brothers – let alone twins. Their dad had managed to bribe the office manager to change their year of birth on their ID cards. So officially, they were still under eighteen.
‘Who is going to mobilise them here?’ my dad had asked him. ‘We’re from Bosnia.’
‘You never know. They could turn them over to our people, if they were asked. I don’t trust anyone any more.’
Amar and Ismar were also Bosnian and brothers, though not twins. Amar was my age – born with three thumbs, two on one hand and one on the other. The thumbs were fused at the first joint, so in fact he had eleven nails, not eleven fingers.
He waved at me when I spotted him.
‘Eat up,’ Mum said. ‘Your food’s getting cold.’
I had to force myself. She and Dad tucked into the mashed potatoes. They chewed the tough meat with little difficulty, and I thought about the night four years earlier, when Neno had travelled to Sarajevo to study. The three of us sat in the sitting room at home, eating in silence.
I missed him so much back then. It took me countless evenings to get used to seeing the empty chair. Now I could manage without seeing him for years, if need be. Just so long as I knew that he was okay. That would be enough. I didn’t care about the shells and the two days in the hands of the Chetniks. I could forget all about that, just like Mum and Dad had done. So long as he was still alive.
Why did I talk about that so much yesterday? I thought. It was no help. Just made me even heavier and more distant from everything around me. ‘Heavy as a horse,’ like in the song by Electric Orgasm.
On the tablecloth in front of me the sunlight made a small square. I felt like chatting to the topless German again, translating for Igor and staring discreetly at her fine figure. But Igor had already returned to the front, she was back in Germany, and I sat in this echoey restaurant, chewing on rubbery bits of tripe.
My jaw tired out.
‘My dear boy! Didn’t you know cows had such tough stomachs?’ Dad joked, now full up and frisky, but his half-witted gems glanced off me.
I felt like escaping from the overcrowded room, jumping into the clear blue water by the pier – to wash away the last few months from my mind. I felt like merging with the surrounding smells, blending in with the happy tourists on the beach – and forget all about Igor and our conversation the previous night.
So when Amar came over and asked if I wanted to join him for a swim, I smiled and said, ‘Yes. Definitely, man!’ I pushed aside the plate and the previous night, and we went down to check the temperature of the water.
Cassette 2
MIKI’S SCORING SONGS
NINA
Amar picked his nose and talked about women as we strolled up the path after our swim. When we reached the terrace between D1 and D2, a group of beach bums came walking towards us. It was Samir, Damir and some other boys and girls I didn’t yet know.
Amar and I spun on our heels and followed them. We swam by the pier for a long time, teasing the girls and drawing attention to ourselves. Then Samir asked if we wanted to swim over to the island.
There was nothing but cliffs, weeds and brushwood there. A couple of immovable nudists lay roasting in the sun. On the other side of the island – the side facing the horizon – the cliffs rose sharply out of the water. I was amazed by how high they were. There was only one spot were the cliff was low enough to climb out of the water after jumping in.
In that very spot Andrea, Samir’s girlfriend, was swimming with one of her girlfriends, whose name escapes me. The girls were from Majbule, meaning that they were neither ‘those fleeing’ or ‘those displaced,’ but locals, ‘the natives.’ Samir was older. He knew how things worked. He had scored with Andrea a few days earlier.
Andrea, who was ten times hotter than her girlfriend, jumped in feet first from a cliff that must have been fifteen to twenty metre high. Splashh! I could not believe my eyes. Even for me, born and raised by one of the deepest rivers in Bosnia, who spent summer after summer jumping in from taller and taller willow trees, hers was an extraordinary feat.
Damir jumped in head first from a lower cliff.
Amar and I did the same.
After salvaging the honour of the newcomers – and of the boys for that matter – I swam back. Getting out of the water was not easy. The sea was choppy, and I was afraid the waves would slam me against the cliff.
When I reached the others, Samir was already in full swing, sitting on a rock a few metres away, French kissing Andrea. Stroking her tanned thigh. She had one hand on her lap. Almost motionless.
I immediately thought of Nina.
It began a few weeks before the soldiers arrived. A few chance gazes and smiles during lunch. It developed into a bit of chat at Vanja’s birthday. We held each other’s hands after leaving the others behind; they had started to play hide-and-seek with an enthusiasm that was unfathomable to us.
On one of those very days, the river carried the sound of the first explosions to us. The windowpanes in our small houses rattled more often and with more intensity from one day to the next. It was a clear warning that the rest of the world existed. That it was best to bear that in mind.
In my mind there was only Nina. Nina and my plan to become familiar with the taste of her lips. Mister No gave me his expert advice. He described to me how he chatted up countless girls during his tense expeditions in the Amazonian rainforests, at the jazz clubs in the city of Manaus and a number of other places. One night, highly motivated, my hair finally behaving itself, Nina and I strolled through the park in an increasingly awkward stillness. She lived two blocks away, and I was walking her home.
We had been to the flicks. Seen Time of the Gypsies with Adi and Maja. Laughed when Azra asked Perhan if he could kiss like they did in the movies. At the bridge, Adi and Maja went their separate ways, and at the end of the park, just as my wandering gaze at long last landed on an empty bench, the rain started to pour down. A heavy spring rain pelted the city. Nina and I took cover under a lime tree, its branches were still bare. With my back against as the yet dry trunk I noticed Nina’s shoulder move closer. My heart was going completely bonkers under my drenched shirt.
‘Nina! Ni-na!’
Nina straightened up and walked in the direction of her mum’s voice, and never returned. From her best friend I discovered that she had moved to Ljubljana, where her Dad worked. That she would not be back until ‘all of this calms down a little.’
Later, as I sat in our neighbour Zaim’s damp and overcrowded basement, while it thundered and boomed outside, I sedated myself with the thought of what it would be like the day the war ended and Nina returned. How I would wait for her at the bus station in our rebuilt to
wn. About how she would press her nose against the window of the bus and wave at me. Her brown hair had grown longer. Her breasts were bigger. I would feel her head resting on my chest, while the darkness and the rain fell on the city. And everything would be like it used to be – with the exception that the lime tree would soon be chopped down, and we would soon have to find other hiding places from the rain, Nina’s mum and the rest of the world, which it was best to bear in mind.
As I stood on the small, deserted, nameless island, dripping wet and out of breath, far from Zaim’s basement, the lime tree and Nina, I could not stop staring at Samir and Andrea, whose lips were firmly pressed together. There was no jealousy. Just a desperate need to pull someone close and kiss that person as best I could.
I looked around.
Sanela and Katarina sat with their legs crossed, talking about some band called Guns N’ Roses. Andrea’s girlfriend asked if we were going home soon. Marina lay on her back with her eyes closed, lapping up the sun.
CELIBACY
That same evening Amar came up to me and asked:
‘Hey, how old are you?’
‘Almost fifteen.’
‘Cool, same here! I’ve got a job for you.’
‘What kind of job?’
‘We’re going to score some ladies tonight!’
‘Ladies?’
‘Yep. What do you say to that?’
‘I say, why not.’
‘Why not, exactly! Dunno about you, but I’ve had enough of this damn celibacy!’
‘You’ve had enough of what?’
‘Celibacy! Cel-i-ba-cy!’
‘What’s that?’
‘Celibacy,’ Amar said, ‘is when you’re not screwing enough!’
MARINA
Elvis was in love with Sanela. He was a friend of Amar’s, a gypsy from Bijeljina. Elvis’ Dad, Husein, would later become famous thanks to a profound statement, which many of us in the camp would remember for a long time and quote. After hearing about someone’s unbridled complaint about everything that person had lost and left at home – the house, the car, the brand new set of cutlery – Husein snorted and responded with his legendary words:
‘Yes, that’s how it is these days. Now all of you are gypsies too.’
With that he entered himself on the list of the most unforgettable Majbulian gems, on which Igor and his ‘What do I know, maybe she’ll get upset’ had already taken a well-deserved spot.
Elvis was crazy about Sanela, I discovered that night, and the same went for Amar and Katarina.
‘Why don’t you take Marina,’ Amar said, and I had nothing against that. She was nothing special, but nor was I.
Amar had done the legwork by arranging a group walk. Everything was arranged: the meeting place, the time and the winding route past the normally dark gardens of the villas. Majbule was not exactly Paris, it was safe to say, nor was it LA. Street lighting was a relatively unheard of phenomenon. If you fancied a stroll in the middle of the night, for the most part you were left to walk in the light of the moon.
The girls were taking their time. A lot of time. Amar, Elvis and I stood on the terrace in front of the restaurant and took turns glancing up the path. Elvis suggested playing a round of marbles on the path while we waited. Amar and I rolled our eyes:
‘Take that shit home, man! You weren’t seriously thinking of clattering around with those when they get here, were you?’
‘You’re such an infant, man! What’s with you?’
A little later we filled our arms with pilfered grapes and figs on one of the dark side streets that was furthest from the camp. Then we split up – entirely spontaneous – into three pairs and dawdled towards the Adria campsite.
Adria was the largest campsite in the area. It had bungalows, flats and sites for caravans and tenters. There were communal showers and toilets, a kiosk and last but not least, a restaurant with a terrace, where the same band always played the same songs, including ‘I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker. I get my lovin’ on the run.’
On the way there, I told Marina about the river that runs through my hometown, about my record player and all the records and cassettes I was missing terribly.
She listened attentively.
The next night all six of us went for a stroll, taking more or less the same route. In the middle of Marina’s story about her first swim in the Danube, I heard Katarina give Amar a point blank rejection. That same moment he exclaimed:
‘Hey friends! It sure is dark here! Why don’t we hold hands!’
I don’t know if Katarina held his hand, I don’t think so, but Marina grabbed mine.
We strolled around for rest of the evening, sweaty hand in sweaty hand, and did not dream of letting go. Because what if all of a sudden the other person was no longer scared of the dark?
Not until her knees were sore and my throat was dry did we head back to the camp. In the darkness beneath the pine trees, between the disused tennis court and the bright terrace in front of the restaurant, we both went strangely quiet. Marina’s hair was down, and I spotted a couple of pine needles. She looked up at the treetops and smiled. Almost nonchalantly I plucked the needles from her hair, and with my trembling, clammy hand I touched her cheek. It was blazing.
I still do not know who eventually moved whose lips towards the other. I was far too dizzy to be able to remember such details. All I know is that I later convinced myself that it was me. In any case, one thing was certain: We stood there under the pine trees, tentatively jousting with our tongues, and both contributed to something that, with a little good will, could technically speaking be considered a kiss. I had no idea what to do or what order to do it in. First I rubbed my hands up and down her cotton T-shirt, but that began to feel rather stupid. So I moved my hand up and caressed her neck and hair. I did my best to imitate the guys from Beverly Hills, 90210. Mouth half-open, fingers stroking the girl’s hair, eyes shut. Marina, however, her mouth was open so wide that I froze in disbelief at first. What is happening there? Then I pulled myself together, set aside the Beverly Hills variant and attempted to follow her lead. But it was no use: her mouth was much larger than mine. Her saliva ran down my chin. Her lips slid over my nose, my eyebrows, my forehead. Soon my entire head was inside her open mouth, and I could feel the vacuum of her windpipe sucking me further and further inside.
THAT’S WOMEN FOR YOU
The next day I asked Marina to open her mouth a little less, and she was very supportive. She was convinced that I had more experience with that sort of thing. She let me nickname her toes. We chewed gum and brushed our teeth from morning to night. I showered two or three times a day. A frontal assault on bad breath and sweat.
I could never get my hair right. I let it grow out. When Marina walked towards me, I studied her slender body closely. When she said hi to me – discreet, conspiratorial – in a way that only I could see – I was in seventh, eight and ninth heaven.
On our sixth day together she did not show up as arranged.
The following day she was quiet and discontent.
By the eighth day it was over.
She explained that she did not fancy having a boyfriend, that she was not ready for it, and last but not least, that she had been in love with someone else for a long time – some guy whose parents had had enough of war and peace and the climes of the former Yugoslavia. He lived in New Zealand now, and she had just received a letter from him.
I moped around for all of twelve hours before I got over the unexpected break-up. Amar commented with words of encouragement, ‘Fuck it. You’re finally free,’ and Elvis added ‘I knew it! That’s women for you.’
I left the two of them by the entrance to the TV room and headed up to our room. In some strange way I was afraid of running into the witch.
What does a guy say? How crude do you have to be before she understands that I am ICE-COLD and that I DON’T CARE ONE FUCKING BIT!
The light in our room was on. I saw as I walked across the
terrace. So I was surprised, to put it mildly, when I bumped into a locked door.
I rubbed my head and knocked.
A few times.
At first the room was completely still, then I heard the squeak of a mattress spring. I heard mumbling inside and someone taking a couple of steps.
‘Are you in there?’
‘Is that you?’
It was Dad.
‘Yes!’
‘What do you want?’
‘What do you think I want? I want inside!’
‘Why do you want to come in here? It’s only nine o’clock!’
I was taken aback and spontaneously asked:
‘Where’s Mum?’
At that moment I caught on. Man, did I ever catch on!
‘Go talk to your friends,’ Dad said. ‘She’s sleeping.’
‘Are you …?’
‘We’ll see you later, son. You woke us up.’
I went downstairs again. Decided not to return until they were really asleep.
Hope they’re not using my bed, I thought. Hope they bloody well air out the room!
I had absolutely zero interest in seeing them after.
MARINA AGAIN
Everything changed swiftly that summer, Marina too. She gained some weight and became incredibly irritating. At least that was my impression right up till one night at Amar’s birthday party on the beach. Here she revealed her true reason for dumping me. She had drunk three mouthfuls of beer and opened up like a flower in the rain: I was her first boyfriend, she was inexperienced. She was afraid of disappointing me and eventually she could no longer stand hearing about Nina, the girl I had got on so well with.
With cheeks blazing from the wine and the mesmerising flames of the fire, I kind of admitted that I missed her on occasion. We slipped away from the others, who sat ineptly wailing away to an untuned guitar. We found a place where their severely off-key voices could only just be heard. Soon my plucky right hand slipped in under Marina’s top. Marina had lost weight. She was speaking sensibly and rationally again. For example, she said, ‘Okay. But just a little,’ after listening to me repeat ‘Just a little, just a little bit,’ for ages. She guided my right hand under her top and boldly placed it in the right place.
Ukulele Jam Page 5