Goran looked in growing amazement at the man he was holding in a headlock, taking in the tousled hair, the bloody scratch on his cheek and the neatly trimmed beard. ‘Everything’s fine,’ he called down.
Marco was wheezing. ‘Have you totally lost your mind?’
‘I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I? Oh man!’ Goran punched Marco’s shoulder. ‘What are you doing sneaking around here in the dark?’
‘I didn’t recognise you with that crew cut and the parka.’ Marco was almost crying. ‘I thought it was some kind of dosser outside Diana’s door.’
‘Where is she?’ Narrowing his eyes, Goran looked hard at Marco. ‘She planned on coming, didn’t she? She promised. Is she afraid? Did she have the new lock put in because she’s scared?’
‘Something came up.’ Marco massaged his bruised shoulder. ‘She needed some time out.’
‘Time out? Bullshit! Did you put her up to this?’
‘I’m just the messenger boy. If you want to say something, or give her something…’
Goran stepped up close to Marco. ‘Diana doesn’t know anything about our meeting, does she? You didn’t tell her about my call. Look at me when I’m talking to you!’
Marco shrank back. ‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’
‘Just tell me.’ Goran stared at Marco; it was all he could do to stop himself grabbing him by the throat. ‘How did they know I was in Talinovac? Did you wring it out of Diana and then pass the message on to your Albanian buddies down there?’
‘Albanian buddies? What buddies?’ Marco stuttered. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about what happened to your parents.’
‘Who have you ganged up with? Tell me!’
‘God’s truth, Goran, I’ve got nothing to do with that.’
Goran saw the beads of sweat that had formed on Marco’s forehead, his plucked eyebrows and his prominent Adam’s apple, which bobbed up and down when he swallowed. The guy really was clueless. Marco was an idiot, just a poor little queer.
Without another word, Goran set off downstairs, step by step, passing the broken window and stepping on the glass. He had to stop seeing ghosts everywhere. He had to act, even without Diana’s counsel, and fulfil his father’s last wishes. This time it was vital he didn’t mess up. He couldn’t disappoint his father.
‘Didn’t you have something to give Diana?’ Marco called after him. ‘To leave something with her?’
On the ground floor, Goran stopped in front of the letter boxes, pulled the envelope out of his inside pocket and posted his father’s last will and testament through the slot. He was a weakling, a loser, incapable of accomplishing anything, and a coward to boot. The eternal refugee from Kosovo.
He stepped out into the street, saw the van and the guy with the hoodie. He passed him, but didn’t turn around, despite having the feeling that he was being followed. Paranoia, that’s what you call it.
23
The traffic grew worse with every passing slip road. Vans and cars squeezed past lorries on the outside lane, and only reluctantly gave way to the dark limousine with the diplomatic number plate which was speeding into town from the airport with its headlights on full beam.
‘Where would you like me to take you?’ The driver was trying to make eye contact in the rear-view mirror. ‘Straight home?’
Milena leant forward. ‘I need to get to the Music School. Njegoš Street – is that on your way?’
‘When do you need to be there?’
‘Just after seven. My son’s waiting there for me.’
The driver moved over to the left-hand lane. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll make it.’
Behind the darkened windows of the limo, the Kalemegdan Fortress loomed up on the steep hill at the northern end of the Old City, with its remnants of old masonry and walls, which the Ottomans had erected there many hundreds of years ago. At its far end stood a huge monument, the Pobednik, ‘The Victor’, a hideously ugly sculpture dating from the late nineteenth century. Its outstretched arm holding a dove marked the confluence of the Danube and the Sava. Milena leant back, closed her eyes and tried to relax. Alexander Kronburg’s offer had left her speechless. After the initial shock, she had felt flattered, but now she mainly felt at a complete loss. This was going to turn everything upside down! She had asked for some time to think about it.
Branko’s Bridge, the eye of the needle where Belgrade’s traffic was concerned, was chock-a-block as usual. The driver flashed his lights and used every gap to try and inch his way forward.
‘What do you think?’ Milena leaned forward again. ‘Shall I call my son and tell him that we’re going to be a little late?’
‘We’ll be there in ten minutes.’ He looked at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘Twelve at most.’
‘Perfect.’
With dusk falling, the Old City was already illuminated by floodlights. Next to the two small domes, the Seat of the Patriarch and the Palace of Princess Ljubica, the tower of St Michael’s Cathedral shone in a soft green and golden light. A picture-perfect panorama – if you ignored the rest, that is – that huge stone pile, a jumble of preand post-war buildings, with huge advertising hoardings mounted on top of their flat roofs.
‘It is very kind of you to ferry me around like this,’ said Milena.
‘Don’t mention it.’ The driver said, indicating to turn. ‘To her front door – those were Count Kronburg’s explicit instructions.’
‘Don’t even think about it. At Republic Square we can catch the number 26, which takes us straight to Tašmajdan Park.’
‘I’m really happy to take you, Ms Lukin.’
Milena checked her telephone and asked, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Saša Urban.’
‘Do you have any children?’
‘Two daughters.’
‘Already grown-up?’
‘The older one’s just finishing her education at the moment.’
‘Here in Belgrade?’
The man laughed. ‘That’d be nice! No, in Germany. It had to be Occupational Therapy. And now she’s announced that she wants to study Pharmacology.’
‘Sounds very gifted, your daughter. And the other one?’
‘Is in Boston. Working as an au pair with friends of the Kronburgs.’
‘Your children really are spread round the world.’
‘You can say that again. As long as they get ahead – isn’t that the most important thing? Look, up there ahead of us, is this your boy?’
The car stopped and Adam came running, with his guitar on his back. ‘What’s up now?’ he shouted.
‘Where’s your hat?’ Milena had got out; as she was helping Adam take off the guitar, the boot of the limo opened as if by magic.
‘So where’s our Niva?’ Adam asked as they climbed in, not forgetting to politely wish the driver a good evening at the same time.
‘The Niva’s still parked outside the institute,’ said Milena. ‘I’ll fetch it tomorrow.’
‘Is this the German ambassador?’ Adam whispered, sliding onto the back seat next to Milena. ‘The man you’re always getting so upset about?’
Milena shook her head. ‘It’s his driver. Mr Urban is very kindly taking us home.’ She lifted her finger as a warning. ‘So don’t you go telling any tall tales now, d’you hear?’
‘How many horsepower does this car have?’ Adam asked as soon as Urban had settled in the driver’s seat.
‘Two hundred and twenty,’ the driver answered. They passed slowly along Njegoš Street.
‘It must use up a lot of petrol, though?’
‘Especially in town.’
‘That’s not very eco-friendly, is it?’
‘Adam, please!’
‘The lad’s not wrong,’ Urban conceded.
‘No, just precocious.’
Adam grinned and enquired in a rather stilted way, ‘Is the engine at least diesel fuel-injection?’
They passed the market. As Adam talked shop with the driver, Milena thought about Sl
avujka Valetić, who ran a stall somewhere here with the other women of her company. Hopefully, if she managed to get hold of her on Monday, they might be able to meet as early as Tuesday, maybe even all four of them – Slavujka, Goran, Siniša and herself – for a debrief. If Milena was planning to confront the secretary of state for Kosovo with the situation in Talinovac, she needed backup and had to be sure that she was doing the right thing.
The hurly-burly on Njegoš Street was not unusual for this time on a market day. The market traders were piling boxes on top of each other and blocking half the street with their trailers, vans and carts. The driver reversed a little and turned into a side road, Mutap Street. It was the same street that Milena had escorted the old lady to the other day. In passing, she caught sight of the house, with its mossy windowsills and chipped stucco decorations. Today the big gate was open, revealing an ambulance parked in the dimly lit entrance.
Startled, Milena put her hand on the front seat. ‘Sorry – could we stop for a moment?’
Urban slowed down and pulled over.
‘Ten minutes, OK?’ she asked.
‘Not a problem,’ the driver said. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’
‘You sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Before she opened the door, she said to Adam, again raising her finger, ‘You wait here. I’ll be back shortly.’
She had to backtrack a bit, and hoped that she’d been mistaken, but even before she reached the house the ambulance pulled out of the entrance, with its headlights full on, turned swiftly and drove off at a stately pace.
Concerned, Milena watched its receding tail lights. Every day since, she’d thought about paying the old lady a visit, only to postpone it again. And now it was too late.
A lady in slippers and a raincoat came out of the entrance, most probably a neighbour. Milena went up to her. ‘I’m sorry, but I just saw an ambulance leave and I was worried. Has something happened to the old lady?’
The woman dug her hands into her pockets. ‘Do you know Miss Juliana?’
Milena shook her head. ‘I just met her the other week.’
‘A dizzy spell, at least that’s what the doctor says, but I know her symptoms. I fear that diagnosis is a bit optimistic.’ The woman walked on, and Milena stared into the empty entrance and the gloomy light cast there by a single bulb. Branches of ivy swung in the wind, and behind them everything was pitch black.
‘Are you, by any chance,’ – the woman in the raincoat had come back – ‘the lady who took Miss Juliana home the other day?’
‘She was a bit disorientated,’ Milena nodded. ‘So we walked some of the way together.’
‘And there was me thinking it was just another one of Miss Juliana’s stories! Thank you so much. That was very considerate of you.’
‘Are you looking after the old lady?’
‘I do what I can. Look, I’ve got to go now. Have a nice evening.’
‘Just one more question,’ Milena called after her. ‘Which hospital did they take her to?’
‘Hospital? No, she’s sitting in there, in her kitchen.’
Milena smiled with relief. ‘I thought…’
‘At her own risk. Stubborn as a mule, she is.’ The woman looked up at the house with misgivings etched on her face. ‘The doctor wanted to take her in for observation, but she was having none of it. You know, if you were to believe her, it’s all just a virus of some kind. The best doctor can do nothing when someone’s like that – let alone me, the stupid neighbour.’
Milena’s face betrayed her concern. ‘Is someone with her now?’
‘Who? The beloved family only exists in her head now. The last one, her cousin Sophia, is six feet under, and has been for fifteen years.’
‘She told me about a man, who she thought she saw the other day.’
‘You probably mean Nicola – her cousin. She hasn’t stopped talking about him of late. He upped and left sixty years ago; I think he went to Canada. No, no, Miss Juliana is totally alone, unfortunately, there’s nobody anymore.’ The woman looked back at the house. ‘You know, I can’t stop thinking: what’s she up to right now, what’s she going to dream up next? Has she still got all her marbles, or is she going to set fire to the old place?’
‘It’s good that you care so much.’
The woman shrugged helplessly. ‘What am I supposed to do? The doctor gives her an injection, prescribes a few drops and then clears off. And I have to dash to the chemist’s to get something for when she next keels over.’
‘Of course,’ Milena replied.
‘But I can’t be in two places at once! My husband, for example, has been waiting for his dinner for almost two hours now, and I have to look after my father-in-law, who needs constant care as well, and then I find myself thinking again: no, I’ve got to go over and check whether she’s turned off the gas cooker. Or that she isn’t crawling around the garden picking up old twigs. Believe me, I’m not joking.’
‘Let me know if I can be of any help,’ said Milena. ‘Maybe I could go and fetch the drops?’
‘I can do that!’ came Adam’s crystal-clear voice. ‘I know where the chemist’s is!’
Milena turned around, crouched down and pulled the zip of his jacket closed. ‘I meant what I said about staying put in the car,’ she chided.
‘Look out,’ said the neighbour to Milena. ‘I might take you up on that.’
‘By all means, do.’
‘Really?’ She gave Milena an imploring look. ‘You know what’d be really good of you?’ She came a step closer. ‘If you could keep an eye on Miss Juliana for a little while? That’d cut me some slack.’
Milena looked at her watch.
‘Just half an hour, no more,’ continued the neighbour, ‘then I’ll have taken care of my menfolk and could relieve you. I’m sorry, I know it’s an imposition.’
‘Where do you live?’ Milena asked.
‘Over there.’ The woman pointed across the street and past Mr Urban, who was waiting at a discreet distance. As if he’d been waiting just for this moment, he stepped forward and said, ‘If I may say so, your son made a very good suggestion.’
‘I could have been to the chemist’s and back three times by now,’ Adam grumbled.
‘All right.’ Milena laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Let’s do it your way.’
A few minutes later, Adam and Mr Urban were on their way to the pharmacy, prescription in hand. The neighbour hurried home, and Milena phoned Vera to tell her that they’d be a bit late back tonight. All the rest of the news could be shared over the dinner table.
Milena put away the phone and climbed the little staircase to the raised ground floor with trepidation. ‘Just go in,’ the neighbour had said. ‘Miss Juliana knows the drill. She’ll be pleased to see you.’
The front door was open, but the corridor lay in darkness. The only glimmer of light came through a door on the right, left slightly ajar.
‘Hello?’ Milena turned the door handle gently, hoping she wouldn’t frighten the old lady to death.
The narrow room was a pantry containing a tall shelf unit with a few provisions scattered on it. Milena couldn’t open the door fully, only by a small gap. It jammed against something large and heavy lying behind it.
‘Miss Juliana?’ She pushed and shoved, and tried to see into the corner behind the door. A poker fell to the floor, and the light went off. Milena felt along the wall to find the switch.
It was only a sack of potatoes. Milena bent down and dragged the obstacle out of the corner, then picked up the can that was lying behind it, and switched off the light.
At the end of the corridor was a double door, from which the paint was flaking off. Milena knocked, waited a few seconds and entered a large room with floor-to-ceiling tiles, decorated with blue-and-white Dutch motifs dimly glinting in the diffuse light. To the left of the sink was a huge cabinet full of china, which must have been even older than the service lift and bell in their dusty wooden box with
oldfashioned numerals on it. The cook, who once upon a time would have ruled over this domain, must have had very strong arms: a few cast-iron pots still hung above the disused cooking range, which dwarfed the gas cooker – probably the most recent addition to this kitchen. Everything was neatly in its place; only the sideboard was strewn with all manner of things – coins, keys, batteries and a set of dark leather gloves.
Around the corner there was a bed, as narrow as a pallet and covered by a checked blanket. In front of the big window stood a small illuminated lamp, the only light source in this room. Three ugly pieces of furniture had been arranged into a seating area: a chair, a square table that was much too tall and – with its back to the room – a wing chair, occupied by a slip of a person, whose figure was reflected in the dark windowpane. Milena approached carefully.
Miss Juliana was wearing a white nightgown with an embroidered collar and a woollen knitted jacket, over which she had pulled a quilted vest. Her feet rested on a little stool and were clad in thick socks and ankle-high padded slippers. A long thin braid of hair hung over one bony shoulder. Her head was tilted to one side and her mouth was open as she sat there dozing. Milena was about to tiptoe out again when the grandfather clock started to rattle and strike.
‘Good evening.’ Miss Juliana looked up and cleared her throat. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Please excuse me, I didn’t mean to intrude like this,’ Milena smiled apologetically. ‘I certainly didn’t want to disturb you.’
The old lady tried to stand up. ‘Have you been waiting long?’
‘Please don’t get up.’ Milena took her bag from her shoulder. ‘Your neighbour asked me to look in on you. She’ll be back in a little while.’
‘What time is it?’ Miss Juliana looked around inquiringly. ‘Oh my goodness.’ Again, she tried to haul herself up. ‘I have to make dinner. You must be hungry.’
Milena put her hand on the old lady’s arm. ‘You felt weak. You need to rest now.’
The old lady patted Milena’s hand. ‘I knew you’d come by again, but I had no idea it would be today.’
‘You remember?’ Milena pulled up a chair.
‘What has Angelina been telling you? That I’m losing my marbles? Her gossiping will get me into trouble all over the place. Please sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?’
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