asked the dead for forgiveness. Then I went to the river. I put most of the money and Vladislav’s picture in a plastic bag, tucked the bag in my pocket along with some cash for bribes and, with my eyes closed, swam toward Srbsko.
Cool water, the pull of current, brown old leaves whirlpooling in clumps. A thick branch flows by, bark gone, smooth and rotten. What binds a man to land or water?
When I stepped on the Serbian bank, two guards already held me in the aim of their guns.
“Two hundred,” I said, and took out the soaking wad.
“We could kill you instead.”
“Or give me a kiss. A pat on the ass?”
They started laughing. The good thing about our countries, the reassuring thing that keeps us falling harder, is that if you can’t buy something with money, you can buy it with a lot of money. I counted off two hundred more.
They escorted me up the road, to a frontier post where I paid the last hundred I’d prepared. A Turkish TIR driver agreed to take me to Beograd. There I caught a cab and showed an envelope Vera had sent me.
“I need to get there,” I said.
“You Bulgarian?” the cabdriver asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Well, shit, it matters. If you’re Serbian, that’s fine. But if you’re a Bugar , it isn’t. It’s also not fine if you are Albanian, or if you are a Croat. And if you are Muslim, well, shit, then it also isn’t fine.”
“Just take me to this address.”
The cabdriver turned around and fixed me with his blue eyes.
“I’m only gonna ask you once,” he said. “Are you Bulgarian or are you a Serb?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, well, then,” he said, “get the fuck out of my cab and think it over. You ugly-nosed Bulgarian bastard. Letting Americans bomb us, handing over your bases. Slavic brothers!”
Then, as I was getting out, he spat on me.
•
And now we are back at the beginning. I’m standing outside Vera’s apartment, with flowers in one hand and a bar of Milka chocolate in the other. I’m rehearsing the question. I think of how I’m going to greet her, of what I’m going to say. Will the little boy like me? Will she? Will she let me help her raise him? Can we get married, have children of our own? Because I’m finally ready.
An iron safety grid protects the door. I ring the bell and little feet run on the other side.
“Who’s there?” a thin voice asks.
“It’s Nose,” I say.
“Step closer to the spy hole.”
I lean forward.
“No, to the lower one.” I kneel down so the boy can peep through the hole drilled at his height.
“Put your face closer,” he says. He’s quiet for a moment. “Did Mama do that?”
“It’s no big deal.”
He unlocks the door, but keeps the iron grid between us.
“Sorry to say it, but it looks like a big deal,” he says in all seriousness.
“Can I come in?”
“I’m alone. But you can sit outside and wait until they return. I’ll keep you company.”
We sit on both sides of the grid. He is a tiny boy and looks like Vera. Her eyes, her chin, her bright, white face. All that will change with time.
“I haven’t had Milka in forever,” he says as I pass him the chocolate through the grid. “Thanks, Uncle.”
“Don’t eat things a stranger gives you.”
“You are no stranger. You’re Nose.”
He tells me about kindergarten. About a boy who beats him up. His face is grave. Oh, little friend, those troubles now seem big.
“But I’m a soldier,” he says, “like Daddy. I won’t give up. I’ll fight.”
Then he is quiet. He munches on the chocolate. He offers me a block, which I refuse.
“You miss your dad?” I say.
He nods. “But now we have Dadan and Mama is happy.”
“Who’s Dadan?” My throat gets dry.
“Dadan,” the boy says. “My second father.”
“Your second father,” I say, and rest my head against the cold iron.
“He’s very nice to me,” the boy says. “Yes, very nice.”
He talks, sweet voice, and I struggle to resist the venom of my thoughts.
The
Cool water, the pull of current, brown old leaves whirlpooling in clumps. A thick branch flows by, bark gone, smooth and rotten. What binds a man to land or water?
When I stepped on the Serbian bank, two guards already held me in the aim of their guns.
“Two hundred,” I said, and took out the soaking wad.
“We could kill you instead.”
“Or give me a kiss. A pat on the ass?”
They started laughing. The good thing about our countries, the reassuring thing that keeps us falling harder, is that if you can’t buy something with money, you can buy it with a lot of money. I counted off two hundred more.
They escorted me up the road, to a frontier post where I paid the last hundred I’d prepared. A Turkish TIR driver agreed to take me to Beograd. There I caught a cab and showed an envelope Vera had sent me.
“I need to get there,” I said.
“You Bulgarian?” the cabdriver asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Well, shit, it matters. If you’re Serbian, that’s fine. But if you’re a Bugar , it isn’t. It’s also not fine if you are Albanian, or if you are a Croat. And if you are Muslim, well, shit, then it also isn’t fine.”
“Just take me to this address.”
The cabdriver turned around and fixed me with his blue eyes.
“I’m only gonna ask you once,” he said. “Are you Bulgarian or are you a Serb?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, well, then,” he said, “get the fuck out of my cab and think it over. You ugly-nosed Bulgarian bastard. Letting Americans bomb us, handing over your bases. Slavic brothers!”
Then, as I was getting out, he spat on me.
•
And now we are back at the beginning. I’m standing outside Vera’s apartment, with flowers in one hand and a bar of Milka chocolate in the other. I’m rehearsing the question. I think of how I’m going to greet her, of what I’m going to say. Will the little boy like me? Will she? Will she let me help her raise him? Can we get married, have children of our own? Because I’m finally ready.
An iron safety grid protects the door. I ring the bell and little feet run on the other side.
“Who’s there?” a thin voice asks.
“It’s Nose,” I say.
“Step closer to the spy hole.”
I lean forward.
“No, to the lower one.” I kneel down so the boy can peep through the hole drilled at his height.
“Put your face closer,” he says. He’s quiet for a moment. “Did Mama do that?”
“It’s no big deal.”
He unlocks the door, but keeps the iron grid between us.
“Sorry to say it, but it looks like a big deal,” he says in all seriousness.
“Can I come in?”
“I’m alone. But you can sit outside and wait until they return. I’ll keep you company.”
We sit on both sides of the grid. He is a tiny boy and looks like Vera. Her eyes, her chin, her bright, white face. All that will change with time.
“I haven’t had Milka in forever,” he says as I pass him the chocolate through the grid. “Thanks, Uncle.”
“Don’t eat things a stranger gives you.”
“You are no stranger. You’re Nose.”
He tells me about kindergarten. About a boy who beats him up. His face is grave. Oh, little friend, those troubles now seem big.
“But I’m a soldier,” he says, “like Daddy. I won’t give up. I’ll fight.”
Then he is quiet. He munches on the chocolate. He offers me a block, which I refuse.
“You miss your dad?” I say.
He nods. “But now we have Dadan and Mama is happy.”
“Who’s Dadan?” My throat gets dry.
“Dadan,” the boy says. “My second father.”
“Your second father,” I say, and rest my head against the cold iron.
“He’s very nice to me,” the boy says. “Yes, very nice.”
He talks, sweet voice, and I struggle to resist the venom of my thoughts.
The
Similar Books
