Mum and Dad walked towards us carrying a bundle of asparagus. As soon as they finished greeting one another, Dad got right down to business:
‘Have you seen what’s happening these days?’
‘Not politics again,’ Mum pleaded.
‘Just the other day, a certain Mirko was nearly the death of me!’
‘Now what? What’s happened now?’ Uncle asked.
‘He claimed that Bosnian Muslims were just Croats who followed Islam! That the Koran is a plagiarism of the Bible!’
‘Old story.’
‘I know. I explained to him that it was all the same to me, that I did not know much about God anyway. And do you what how he said?’
‘What.’
‘“People like you ought to be shot!”’
‘Lunatic.’
‘“You communists are the worst!”’
‘I want to leave but they won’t do it,’ I said.
‘His friends have gone,’ Mum explained. ‘To Sweden.’
Ana and Uncle nodded.
‘Ah! Beautiful country. Proper country.’
‘That is of no interest to me,’ Dad replied straight away. ‘I am too old for that nonsense.’
‘Fifty-eight is nothing,’ Uncle teased him.
‘Rubbish!’ Dad said, waving his hands. ‘I am not as strong as I used to be. Anyway … Should we find somewhere to sit down and talk?’
My uncle was wearing new shoes. The laces kept coming undone. When it happened again a few metres past the restaurant, I stayed back with him while Mum and Dad chatted with Ana about her background.
Dad was obviously taking Mum into consideration. He did not want to ask Uncle about ‘that’ until we were in the room. I could not take it any longer. I was about to explode from impatience.
‘What’s the news?’ I asked.
‘Wait till we get up to the room.’
‘Is it about Neno?’
He straightened up. His face gave nothing away.
‘Wait and see.’
I was afraid to ask anything else.
In the room, I stared at my two magazine clippings. They were stuck to either wall in the corner of the room – right above my pillow. Bruce Dickinson wearing a tight-fitting white jumper and holding a microphone. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammett and Newsted standing on a rock, looking up.
We were given an electric heater as a present. Dad laughed. It was the middle of May, we had managed the entire winter without one. There were also clothes for me: some large T-shirts in colours that were far too bright. I didn’t like them and I couldn’t focus on them. Don’t even remember if I thanked him.
‘We can trade in the electric heater at the market,’ Dad said when Mum went over to the neighbours to make coffee. ‘We need a hot plate.’
‘Shame,’ Uncle said. ‘I’m sure you mentioned you needed an electric heater.’
Neither Uncle nor Ana commented on the room, but Ana’s lengthy silence and sad expression made me rather uneasy. I could not tell whether it was because of the few square metres we lived in or because of what Uncle was about to tell us. It really bothered me if she was feeling sorry for us. I almost felt guilty.
‘Coffee’s ready,’ Mum said and set the tray down on the table. ‘Hot, Bosnian style!’
She and our guests sat on the bed. Dad and I took the two chairs on the other side of the table.
‘News report!’ Dad interrupted and reached for the cassette player.
Mum rolled her eyes:
‘But we have guests!’
‘I just want to hear about the Mostar front. Just two minutes.’
The radio whirred to life. When the programme started and the reporter fired off an arsenal of sentences in his usual dramatic fashion, Dad shook his head and whispered:
‘Lies. A pack of lies!’
‘Then why do you listen?’ Uncle smiled with an ease for which I envied him.
‘I have to,’ Dad answered. ‘You have to keep up with what’s happening.’
The conversation ranged from the weather, the war and Slovenia, and Ana took part as well. Several times I got the feeling that Uncle was putting off the task at hand. As soon as one topic died down, he hurried on to the next.
I couldn’t take it. Everyone was acting like nothing had happened, chatting about trivial matters, and I just sat there, staring at Bruce, James and the boys – paralysed by fear, powerless and frustrated.
Why is he tormenting me? Why doesn’t he say something?
Then he and Ana finished their coffees and set their cups down on the tray almost in sync.
‘Now listen,’ Uncle said. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to start.’
His voice was so serious that Mum froze. She was about to pour more coffee for them but put the copper pot down and looked at me and Dad.
My gaze drifted around the room and onto the balcony.
‘There’s a reason we’re here …’
Through the open balcony door I could see Marina and Kaća standing by the entrance to D2 laughing at something. Marina stood with her back to me and only when she let go of what was in her hand could I see what she held: a heart-shaped helium balloon. It shot into the air but was attached to an invisible string. Marina pulled it back down.
‘Actually a number of reasons... There’s news about Nedim.’
I looked at Uncle and caught his gaze.
Mister No is dead. I’m never going to see him again. He’s never going to set foot in this room.
‘I received a call from …’
The rails on the balcony blurred together. I could no longer see Kaća, Marina or the balloon.
Mister No is dead and there sitting there about to tell me.
‘Emir,’ Dad said out of the blue, ‘why don’t you go for a walk?’
‘What ... why?’
‘Just for a while. I’ll tell you everything, don’t worry.’
‘Let him stay,’ Mum said drying her eyes. ‘He has a right to hear this.’
Mum’s reaction changed everything. Uncle was confused. His gaze shifted between her, Dad and me. Then he burst out:
‘No, no! He’s not dead. He’s missing!’
It was as though he suddenly realised that his beating-around-the-bush-strategy had gone completely wrong. He said it so quickly, you would have thought someone in the room would have dropped dead had he not spat it out in time.
‘What?’
‘How?’
‘Well you see, what happened was …’
‘Come on! Tell us, dammit!’ Dad shouted and stood up. ‘Why the hell are you mumbling? Is he alive?’
‘Sorry, sorry, I’m not used to this kind of situation …’
‘Well, is he alive?’
‘Yes, we think so!’ Ana said suddenly.
‘We think so,’ Uncle repeated.
It was the first time seeing him totally out of sorts and confused, completely outside his accustomed role. Dad sank back into his chair:
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know. He’s not in the camp, at any rate. We don’t know whether he ran away or what happened.’
‘Tell us!’
‘I saw a prisoner exchange list in the paper. Adem Hamzalić’s name was on it.’
‘Adem?’ Mum said. ‘Has he been exchanged?’
‘Yes, last Wednesday. So I called Rifat, Adem’s grandfather. You remember, we worked together in Berlin.’
‘Yes.’
‘Adem said that he’d been at the camp with Nedim right up till January. Then he and a few others were taken to do some work in Banja Luka, at the home of some soldier or guard or whatever. Adem wasn’t actually there, but later he heard that Nedim had met a young boy in front of the soldier’s farm. Clearly someone he knew. The boy had given him a cigarette. The next day Nedim disappeared. The others received a thrashing because of him. The guards questioned people as to where he was. But nobody knew anything and one of the prisoners – the last one to see him – got a
few broken ribs. Adem said people were really upset with Nedim, that he should have realised his actions would have consequences for the others,’ he said.
No one said anything for a while. Uncle took a sip of coffee and added:
‘That was four months ago, according to Adem.’
‘Oh God,’ Mum whispered. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God!’
‘Do you know who it was he could have spoken to?’ Uncle asked.
‘In Banja Luka?’ Dad said looking at me. ‘There’s only his friend from school. His father helped them out of Sarajevo.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Dado,’ I said. ‘His real name is Dragan, I think.’
‘How can we find him? What’s his surname? What’s his father’s name?’
‘We never found out,’ Dad said. ‘It was just some friend from uni.’
‘That’s not good. There’s nothing but Dragans among the Serbs,’ Uncle said. ‘Could it have been anyone else?’
‘How would I know?’ Dad snapped.
The idea that it could be someone else and not Dragan was far too grim. That could mean anything. Even the worst. Uncle tested another possibility:
‘What if he managed to get out of Serbian territory, who would he contact then?’
‘Hmm.’
‘He could write you a letter,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t have your address but he could just write your name and the name of the neighbourhood.’
‘The problem is, he has no idea where we are. Or does he?’ Dad asked.
‘No, unfortunately not. Adem said they didn’t know about anything. Not even that you’d been turned over to the Bosnian army.’
‘Damn it! If only he were able to contact someone who knew we went to stay with you,’ Dad said. ‘If he thinks we are still on the other side of the front, then …’
‘Then he might go home,’ Mum said.
‘There isn’t a living soul there. The city has been obliterated. Vacant houses are looted and witnesses killed.’
‘Just as long as he’s alive,’ Mum said. ‘I don’t care. As long as he’s well!’
Ana comforted her. She bit her lip and rested her hand on Mum’s shoulder. At that moment, I grew very fond of her. She had absolutely no reason to be there. Why should she care about us and our problems? Outside, the sky was blue and there were far better ways to spend the day.
The visit ended with a little more confusion. We had spent an hour or two trying to come to terms with the big news about Neno, then Uncle dropped another bombshell on us on his way out the door. His daughter had got into some difficulties in Canada. He needed to go over there for a while. For how long, he did not know.
‘I’ll fill you in on the details over the phone. You’ve got your own problems to worry about.’
‘What happened?’
‘Apparently she’s fallen into some bad company.’
‘How long will you stay?’
‘Don’t know. Had Ana not been here, I would have left this week. But she’s decided to come with me now.’
Dad stopped:
‘Are you even coming back?’
‘Of course,’ Uncle said gravely. ‘I just don’t know when. To be perfectly honest, I miss Canada. The air, the streets …
‘See what happens when you don’t come all the way home,’ Dad said, making reference to Uncle buying a flat at the seaside and not in their hometown. ‘You need the healing Bosnian air!’
‘You mean the stench? Thank God I didn’t come home. I would have been hit by the first bullet.’
I gave him a big hug outside of reception. It felt like we were never going to see each other again. Dad was visibly moved as well. Uncle’s visit had turned everything on its head.
‘No, there’s no need,’ he protested when Uncle pressed a handful of kunas into his hand. ‘I’m working. I’m making money.’
‘Please, just buy the hotplate,’ Uncle said. ‘And keep the electric heater. The war is not going to end before next winter. Maybe even longer. You were right.’
‘Fine then,’ Dad smiled. ‘We’ll buy a used one.’
Ana kissed the three of us on the cheeks. She and Uncle climbed into the car and Mum and Dad waved.
‘Wait a minute!’ I shouted and walked up to the car.
Uncle rolled his window down.
‘Can you tell me what comfortably numb means?’
‘Sorry?’
‘What does comfortably numb mean? In English?’
‘Oh!’ he smiled. ‘Comfortable means pleasant, agreeable. Numb? I don’t really know … can’t you look it up in the dictionary?’
‘Don’t have one.’
‘What about your teachers at school?’ Ana teased. ‘Don’t they teach you anything?’
‘No, they’re morons, the whole lot of them! That’s why you have to help me out of this place.’
Uncle laughed and started the car. I realised something had completely slipped my mind.
Tomorrow’s homework.
FULL MOON
Back in the room Mum started to cry again. I kept trying to explain to her that he was still out there somewhere. That he must be in hiding and would try to make his way out of Serbian territory soon.
‘It could have been worse. In spite of everything, he’s got a fifty-fifty chance.’
I clung to the thought that he had been seen alive so recently.
‘No one’s seen him dead. That’s something …’
The more I spoke, the more hollow my words sounded. I could just as easily have told Mum that he was hanging out in Manaus, Brazil with the real Mister No, the legendary pilot Jerry Drake. That the two of them were flying Mister No’s Piper and that one day they would land near the bay. I did not know anything.
We went in circles, agonising over every imaginable scenario and permutation. What could have happened that day? Where could he be? Dad wanted to call Adem to get more details. He wanted to know everything. And, to find out if there was anything we could do.
In the end, I could no longer bear it. My head was bursting, and we kept repeating ourselves. I hurried out the door.
Hovering over the bay was an unusually beautiful full moon. Kaća stood by the pier looking down at the water. I needed to be alone but she latched onto me and started pestering me with a rundown of the latest from some sitcom she had just seen:
‘And then he stands there and takes …’
‘SHUT YOUR FACE! I DON’T FUCKIN’ CARE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I DON’T CARE!’
I turned and walked away. She shouted:
‘Hey, what’s going on with you?’
I sped up.
‘Wait!’
Her feet tramped on the round stones behind me.
January? What was I doing in January?
‘Hey!’
Where was I, the day he disappeared?
‘Miki!’
Where is he now? Is he looking up at the same fucking moon or …?
‘Wait!’
‘GO AWAY!’ I bawled and came to a stop. ‘LEAVE ME ALONE!’
Kaća stopped.
My voice could not hide the fact that I was crying.
I pressed my fist between my front teeth and roared like an animal. Then I turned, walked back and told her about Neno.
KAĆA
We sat on the smooth stones by the pier with our arms wrapped around our legs. I talked and talked. Kaća threw a stone in the water when I was finished. She looked up at the full moon and said:
‘Trust me. I know how you’re feeling.’
Then she told me about her father, whom she had not seen in almost two years. About all the idiots at the camp making things difficult for her and her mother. The entire camp knew that he had been separated from them by accident. That he was a doctor and for that reason he was not called up by the Serbian army. Even still, people spread all kinds of rumours. Including one that he forcibly drew blood from Croatian prisoners at a hospital in Vukovar.
‘What would he do with all that blood?’
she said. ‘The last thing Serbs want is to have Croatian blood flowing through their veins. That rumour doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Hey, just imagine if they gave it to all of the wounded,’ I said. ‘You know, the ones who had lost too much blood.’
‘Yeah, then they’d be like me. A fifty-fifty mix.’
‘Sorry for shouting at you earlier,’ I said.
‘That’s okay. I just didn’t know what I’d done wrong.’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘Never mind then.’
We headed back around eleven. I was completely wiped when I climbed into bed. All the things I had told Kaća were still swirling round in my head. I went through some particular scenarios, paying attention to different details, but I kept returning to those two bloody days from nearly eleven months ago.
Mum and Dad were asleep, or at least they were pretending to be. I tried as well, but was unable to. The tears had taken the edge off my desperation. Kaća’s story had helped. But the wound that this crazy day had opened, had grown.
I had school the next morning and had not touched my homework.
SWAN’S BOLLOCK
Down by the crossing, not far from Buljina Bog where as a child Dad had seen an Ustashe get shot, there was an old broken-down phone box in the parking lot in front of the shop. I sat leant against the shop window looking at it. The soldiers guarding the crossing post had used it as a toilet. The stench of shit seeped out.
I had to take a dump myself but looked at the phone box for another reason.
The previous night, seconds before the mosque went up in smoke, I had dreamt that Dad and I had stood in this very phone box. Dad rang Uncle asking for help.
‘You have to get us out of here,’ he said. ‘Don’t you realise what’s happening?’
A moment later the dream transported me to a deserted beach on the Adriatic. I was sitting alone, watching the blue of the water and the sky gorge on one another. The seagulls were shrieking. A sailboat drifted silently past.
Then I was awoken by a massive explosion, jumped out of bed and felt an indescribable pain in my neck.
The nearby mosque was gone.
We had to get up and pack.
That morning, the sky was grey as far as the eye could see. Amongst the large crowd that was gathering in the car park, I was able to pick out many faces I had not seen in a long time. Everyone had their suitcases and bags with them. My history teacher Mandić stood with his family, a little ways off, to the right of the phone box. They lived in a block of flats not far from there.
Ukulele Jam Page 12