FoÄa, who had come to Sarajevo â god knows how â after the rest of her family had been killed in a massacre.Äipo showed her where to sleep, but warned her not to make small talk or to ask him questions, because he was very bad-tempered and had a short fuse. He also warned her never to go into his part of the flat. Not for any reason.
Mujesira wiped the dog shit off the carpet and rearranged the furniture in her room, giving the place a feminine touch. At least she helped to liven up Äipoâs dreary routine â or thatâs how it looked from the outside. And yet, for some reason, he refused to have anything to do with her. He never spoke to her, for instance, and at the end of a fortnight, when she just happened to ask him the most innocent of questions, he responded very angrily, with a look of hatred in his eyes. Mujesira put up with her landlord the way you put up with boorish men. She didnât ask for any explanation as other women might have done. She had no idea about Äipoâs background: where did he come from? Did he own the flat? Did he work? If not, how could he afford tofurnish the flat so beautifully and expensively? Late at night, when she was frightened or panicking, she couldnât help wondering whose side Äipo was on. Was he one of us or one of them? Could he be a secret sniper or a spy? She couldnât understand why he guarded even the most trivial details about himself, or why he refused to let her know his real name: it certainly wasnât Äipo, because such a name didnât exist among Serbs, Croats or Muslims. She hoped to inveigle her way into his affections by means of giving him coquettish smiles of performing little acts of kindness, but Äipo didnât change at all. He was as bilious as ever.
âAm I in your way?â she asked one morning. âIâve been here rather a long time. Perhaps itâs time I should move out.â
Äipo looked at her with contempt and spat sideways. Through clenched teeth he mumbled, âWhere would you go, you sad thing?â
He didnât wait for her to answer before leaving the flat. Mujesira was stunned. She considered various explanations and devised a few sly womanly tricks in order to soften him up, with a view to discovering his true nature, or, at any rate, the one he shows off to his friends, if he had any, or the other men and women in his life. After all, she thought, he must have come from somewhere. He must have a mother and father, a wife and children. But when Äipo returned to the flat in the afternoon, she didnât have the nerve to speak up. She was afraid that if she asked the wrong question Äipo would go mental, and anything could happen then. Who knows? It was not inconceivable thather world might fall apart again, quite unexpectedly and for no obvious reason, as it had done several months before in FoÄa.
In the hallway Äipo touched Mujesira by accident as he went past. She froze and almost stumbled, but he just turned and gave her the usual cold stare. One day, while he was out, she sneaked a look at his room. There was a large crucifix on the wall and a few other religious items. So thatâs it, she told herself, and for the next week or so she imagined that she knew everything there was to know about Äipo. He was a Catholic, then. No wonder he hated her. Mind you, the Catholics are preferable to the Orthodox. At least they invite you into their house instead of killing you. So what if they give you nasty looks?
For a long time Äipo thought about what to do with his Muslim lodger. She struck him as being very beautiful yet foreign. Before the war he would never have met such a doll in the underground cellars that he used to frequent. Yet here she was, in wartime, in his auntâs flat, like a gift from God, an open invitation to lead a better life. On the one hand, the situation was very promising; on the other, it was kind of disgusting.
Mujesira wiped the dog shit off the carpet and rearranged the furniture in her room, giving the place a feminine touch. At least she helped to liven up Äipoâs dreary routine â or thatâs how it looked from the outside. And yet, for some reason, he refused to have anything to do with her. He never spoke to her, for instance, and at the end of a fortnight, when she just happened to ask him the most innocent of questions, he responded very angrily, with a look of hatred in his eyes. Mujesira put up with her landlord the way you put up with boorish men. She didnât ask for any explanation as other women might have done. She had no idea about Äipoâs background: where did he come from? Did he own the flat? Did he work? If not, how could he afford tofurnish the flat so beautifully and expensively? Late at night, when she was frightened or panicking, she couldnât help wondering whose side Äipo was on. Was he one of us or one of them? Could he be a secret sniper or a spy? She couldnât understand why he guarded even the most trivial details about himself, or why he refused to let her know his real name: it certainly wasnât Äipo, because such a name didnât exist among Serbs, Croats or Muslims. She hoped to inveigle her way into his affections by means of giving him coquettish smiles of performing little acts of kindness, but Äipo didnât change at all. He was as bilious as ever.
âAm I in your way?â she asked one morning. âIâve been here rather a long time. Perhaps itâs time I should move out.â
Äipo looked at her with contempt and spat sideways. Through clenched teeth he mumbled, âWhere would you go, you sad thing?â
He didnât wait for her to answer before leaving the flat. Mujesira was stunned. She considered various explanations and devised a few sly womanly tricks in order to soften him up, with a view to discovering his true nature, or, at any rate, the one he shows off to his friends, if he had any, or the other men and women in his life. After all, she thought, he must have come from somewhere. He must have a mother and father, a wife and children. But when Äipo returned to the flat in the afternoon, she didnât have the nerve to speak up. She was afraid that if she asked the wrong question Äipo would go mental, and anything could happen then. Who knows? It was not inconceivable thather world might fall apart again, quite unexpectedly and for no obvious reason, as it had done several months before in FoÄa.
In the hallway Äipo touched Mujesira by accident as he went past. She froze and almost stumbled, but he just turned and gave her the usual cold stare. One day, while he was out, she sneaked a look at his room. There was a large crucifix on the wall and a few other religious items. So thatâs it, she told herself, and for the next week or so she imagined that she knew everything there was to know about Äipo. He was a Catholic, then. No wonder he hated her. Mind you, the Catholics are preferable to the Orthodox. At least they invite you into their house instead of killing you. So what if they give you nasty looks?
For a long time Äipo thought about what to do with his Muslim lodger. She struck him as being very beautiful yet foreign. Before the war he would never have met such a doll in the underground cellars that he used to frequent. Yet here she was, in wartime, in his auntâs flat, like a gift from God, an open invitation to lead a better life. On the one hand, the situation was very promising; on the other, it was kind of disgusting.
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