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May 16th, 99 Last night the planes nearly entered through our windows, together with local artillery defense. We have this beautiful old fashioned typical Belgrade's window overlooking the inner courts of the tall old classy buildings. In these courtyards you have a different life: an underground, free space mostly populated by gypsies or just people who live in the center of Belgrade as in countryside, shielded by outer walls of modern society: they have wells, small gardens with vegetables, outdoor toilets...We people with flats overlooking the courtyards see and hear them but they don't see or hear us. I was born in such a flat, in downtown Belgrade and years later when I saw my present flat, I loved it immediately because of it double face which reminded me of my childhood. So in order to avoid the war we shift from the windows overlooking inner courtyards to rooms with windows of a big city with tall buildings. And my daughter said: This war will never end. I cannot sleep in my room because of the planes. And I said of course it will end: all wars end. But what comes after is no better, I thought: poverty and isolation. I learned that the Italian embassy is no longer willing to give us visas, here or in Budapest. Well, that is my punishment for being late and lazy in survival. Italy was a mother country for me, I never thought I would be a foreigner for them. And I heard that other people in exile are using bad words for us being here. As bad as some use for those who left. The name of the newly opened café at the Hungarian border with Yugoslavia is Casablanca whilst the one in my street has changed it's name from New York to Baghdad café. I had the male "privilege" of smelling death when the bomb fell in my courtyard. But there is another "privilege" I am living: the worst history I read of, right in my home. Our fathers are accused of lying, killing, torturing: we are accused of silence. Our fathers claim their innocence arguing with world conspiracy theories. We are accused of disbelief by them. I wrote a novel about incest, The Mermaids: it was about our fathers... I feel as a survivor. We are trying to present all texts in all languages. However, due to a limited resources we are not always able to achieve this goal. If you would like to translate material for us, please contact us. |
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