ZORAN SLAVIC

WALTER BENJAMIN IN
THE INTERCITY BUS









Revised and improved edition
ZRENJANIN, 2013.

Copyright 2013 Zoran Slavi

CONTENTS



NOCTURNE
DAILY BUS
SOPHIA'S DINNER
ALL THEN STARTED WITH TANKS
ORDINARY DAY WHEN ALL WENT BACKWARDS
DAVIDOVI WRITES
BUS IN RETURN
DAY OF THE ASSASSINATION!
THE SECOND TEXT FROM DAVIDOVIC
WALTER. ASJA. PETAR. ALEXANDRA
INVITATION FROM FRANCE
ON THE TRAIL DAVIDOVIC`S INCORRECT
INFORMATIONSOFIA ONLY IN REMEMBRANCE
DAVIDOVIC SECOND SHIPMENT
VLADIMIR `S FRIEND LIEUTENANT BLUEBERRY AND
THRILLER WITH DAVIDOVIC
A VISIT WITH JOVANOVIC FAMILY 76
ALEXANDRA, THE SECOND TIME IN DREAMS
DIALOGUE WITH THE FACE OF THE DARK
A MAN FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DANUBE, ON
BOULEVARD REVOLUTION
VLADIMIR MIROSLAV IN CANNES READING BENJAMIN'S
DIARY
EXTORTED ANTHROPOLOGICAL BREAK
PAINFUL END OF TRIP TO FRANCE
LITERARY MATINEE AND EVENING PROMENADE
BENJAMIN AND ASJA VISITING WITH VLADIMIR'S
THE NARROWING OF BROADER PICTURE, IN PORT BOU

AGAIN ABOUT DAVIDOVIC, PAVLE AND MY HUMAN AND
LITERARY DILEMMAS
LETTER, TELEPHONE, NEWSPAPERS
WHILE THE VIEW TOUCHES POPLAR
AN UGLY POST-WAR DAY
ADDITION AND SUBTRACTION
ANOTHER HORROR COMES TO POST
VLADIMIR'S INABILITY TO COPE WITH LIFE OUTSIDE THE
BUS
ETERNAL BUS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR


INTRODUCTION


Here is a novel about the fate of middle-class
intellectuals in Serbia, during the Civil War (1991- 1995),
after which the former Yugoslavia broke up. The story
actually covers the historical period of internal wars, social
and ethical challenges, family tragedies and intellectual
fall. The novel begins leaving the army and tanks to
Croatia and ends with the assassination of Serbian Prime
Minister Zoran Djindjic.
2

The emergence of the German philosopher and art
theorist Walter Benjamin, as fictional hero, whose
physiognomy assembled from documentary and
completely fictional literary material in the plot of the novel,
has a functional and metaphorical function, so it can be
read in the text and meta text code. Although in the novel
exist mainly variations on his contradictory way of life,
especially to mysterious and tragic death, reflection of his
aesthetic and philosophical positions, from the background
radiation in the narrative space.

1
Zoran Djindjic, as the leader of the resistance against the regime of
Slobodan Milosevic, after a large demonstration was elected the first
democratic Prime Minister of Serbia. Soon, however, he was killed
in the assassination of crime committed advocates, totalitarianism and
nationalism. Thereby stopped and path Serbia between democratic
and advanced country.
The book "Walter Benjamin in the Intercity bus" can
be read as a love-war thriller, without excessive plunging
into the complicated literary associations. However, it is
legitimate to interpret this work in other ways. Each
decryption key is valid and the person. The same goes for
figuring out a possible explanation about why within the
single novelistic of the "Walter Benjamin in the intercity
bus" appear and parts of the novel "The sting in the head",
preceding this achievement. You'll notice that the book
occurs when two names are the compilers of this
manuscript. A story about the time of the civil war and the
disintegration of the state, signed by Vladan Petrovic while
the description of the period after 2000, representing
Miroslav Vladimir. The fact that it is, in fact, word on one
and the same person, which uses two literary names, like a
subconscious need by behind the entire project to the
social and cultural, historical, and psychological twists and
consequences, complex and far-reaching look at it from
another perspective. The same can be assumed for his
efforts to novel "The sting in the head"
3
prolong and add
comments. All this does not need to But this should not
discourage you because each of your personal
interpretation of the novel to right and proper.




3
It's previous novel by the same author, which is consequently
intertwined with the text you are reading, as his shadow and as an
attempt to circle the topic.

Chapter
One

NOKTURNO

This is the passage that connects the figures and themes
from the previous novel "The sting in the head," with the
events and personalities of the new fiction, "Walter
Benjamin in intercity bus," which is kind of a continuation
of the basic story.


Sofia Alexandrovna, that sits on Monday evening in a bar
named Enters without knocking. Drink simply drinks -
beer. On Bar chair, that gives the whole look of her touch
of abandon. She dyes her hair and acting as just
awakened. Zavii Mara, on the other end of the bar, in a
pull on black tights that emphasizes her sexuality, has
opted for a Martini, or perhaps the Vermouth. The color
of her hair. Bright red. Mirko Udovicki, a theater theorist
from Subotica, he recalls, a few months later; however,
that it was popular drunk ''Biter. Poncho, welder, handy
guy somewhat handicapped, parked himself and his chair
in the corner opposite the bar, so you can easily observe
wiggle Mara lively body. The same one whose naked
geography at the local DVD recognizes domestic
pornography. That replicates the city.
However, Poncho talk with Sofia Alexandrovna of his
new, last name acquired after suspicious stays in Russia.
Mirko drinking coffee, while discreetly kick touches
Aleksandrovna somewhere in the area of the sheet. Or that
decimeter on the west. And, almost automatically
pronounced half aloud what he said on the afternoon
promotion: aware of the inevitable disappearance
continuous narrative " and the impossibility of survival
author by as " all powerful observer, Vladimir Miroslav us
through the seemingly simple situations and almost non-
existent plot, submits a complex, ingenious playful record,
which starts from the scope of ''bloody TV soap opera ", in
the period 1991- 1995. As abyss, associative storytelling
in " The sting in the only head " so, far beyond the
boundaries of intimate drama (or truancy of drama) in the
gray period of provincial journalists and unrealized writer
Vladan Petrovic". Probably because of the rationality of
citations, filed quietly Sofia, Critic intrusion into their
privacy.
Karamati, Dragos, owner of a cafe or something
else, because the city has long concerned gossip
characterized as a substitute of many things, that the
faade of sort's illegal does not work, scattered attention
between Marin's hornless, Critic ravings of cognac and
three after more intensive consumption of beer Sofia
Aleksandrovna, which now runs without visible effect, if
you ignore all the more boldly transgress Mirko feet in her
lap, in the gloom pronounce a sentence that is a replica of
the general developments in the province part of the world.
He says: 'Women are still the biggest victims of our wars
and alcoholism. I these at all ." What does not work, even
incoherent, having in mind his experience of a man who
lives under the sign of greed. Both women, and Mara
Aleksandrovna, and other heavy drinkers of alcohol, which
underlined by Mare Zavii with more grandstanding, in
contrast to Sofia Aleksandrovna, which has frequent
appearances of remorse, as if it delves into the essence of
Mirko's story, while Poncho their dirty fantasies that
intensive food scene in their imagined form, as the night
progresses, ignores both the intellect of women. As one
can prove the speed and the other swallowed alcohol with
which drunkenness has already entered the cafe.
Karamati, who in previous years was a part of one of the
biggest scandal's melodramatic cities, tired of the overall
knowledge of life, they want to quote Borges, whom he
met, peering into it, Borges, books, which were jealously
kept his distant relative of Mr. Tosa.
4
Allowing, however, to
review the Karamatii while I sit under the fig tree in
ljivarska street. He says, this tavern Gigolo: 'There is no
one procedure that does not hide the danger of being a
magical action. There is no single event that could not be
the first in an endless succession."
Present females, Sofija and Mara, as Gabriela
5
has not yet
arrived, that this wisdom first confused and then laughed,
and even Mirko, who would be only an overwhelming
ignore this tavern thought, neither noted Karamatievo

4
This is a character who resembles a significant Serbian poet
symbolism Todor Manojlovic, who will appear as one of the main
characters of the new novel by this author, entitled as "Becskerek
Quartet and Arsen Colak."
5
This young woman, hidden in the humble occupationcoiffeur, Gabriel
Fotez is actually heroin Zrenjanin-Bekerek's artistic circles in the
seventies and eighties years of the twentieth century.
citation. Only the Poncho, a welder in a wheelchair, alias
Ljupko Sliskovic, worthy man in the bar nodding by the
critic, immersed in Sofia Aleksandrovna, understood as an
endorsement of his own sentence. He had just finished: 'A
middle-aged round-up with illusions, escape the memories
of landscapes, present a defense against despair - all
these effort's narrator Vladan Petrovic ,, imposed
Davidovic and co-authors of many ghosts of the various
dimensions of their biographies, writings and dreams, take
place in the cordinates of an imaginary literary landscape,
between Proust and Benjamin. "
This multitude of new and unfamiliar names, which
recited Mirko definitely broke the charm intolerable
drunkenness and erotic coupling that are already covered
with confusion net caf. Sofia Aleksandrovna yet familiar
name to Benjamin. Because he married with Miroslav
Vladimir. Cripple and vagabond known as Poncho is,
however, quite far from Borges and Benjamin, Vladimir
remembered only Miroslav, which has repeatedly stuck
welding exhaust. Mara, even so, the corner of my eye saw
how depressed his Zavii enters the cafe, '' Enters without
knocking." As a clear threat. Because you said Karamati,
in whose lives the shoulder shot revolver, citing Borges:
''There is not one single event that could not also will the
first... " I to her was enough. It was almost midnight. In the
coffee shop about ten meters away from the Western
Boulevard.
Vladimir contacted Sofia by the mobile phone. He
said that after talks in the TV studio moved to local radio.
Will talk about his book, and I apologize to Mirko as he is
not also invited to this interview. Asked Sofia to Mirko drive
to the bus station. The same ones that Miroslav Vladimir
years departed to Novi Sad. With bus and diary book
Walter Benjamin in his bag. Sofia and Mirko, who clung to
her, she goes to her car, but women still find that it is too
drunk. Both, then, are placed in a taxi, and critic Mirko
Udoviki puts quickly his hand between her thighs while
continuing with commendations for novel Sophie's
husband, Vladimir, whose wife touches.
In front of the confused taxi driver, accustomed to
customers probing in a taxi, but rarely happens with
recitation of, followed Mirko clause, incredibly accurate
prose explains the essence of the procedure is applied
Vladimir. It's pronounced tipsy literary critic, much more
focused on the mild eroticism that gives him Sophia. The
text clearly knows by heart: "Therefore the introduction of
the character of Walter Benjamin, essayist, critic and one
of the most lucid raiders of this century, has multiple
functions: escape from life (intimate daily life, as well as
the great historical vortex) ending , as an indication of the
fragility of the literature. " Taxi driver, obviously, much
more interested in Sophia's naked thighs than midnight
drunk citation essay. Loses patience for Udoviki, who still
persistently developed his theory using the world's major
writers in regional purposes. Only Sofia sleeps ignoring to
Mirko's restless hand, the driver's curiosity, as and
narrative excitement and delusions of her husband. All in
all, according to the circumstances of the midnight taxi, last
sentence Mirko Udoviki went into the wind: A reverse
and the inevitable logic, "density" of life details (family
tragedy Davidovic, Petrovic and their literary double) finds
his, albeit ambiguous, the removal of pages that combine
biography and autobiography. Omnipotence writer - even
those ostensibly demystified, postmodern - shows us in
"The sting in the head" in the end, as the inability reader
before the memories.
Chapter
Two

HIGHWAY - FIVE YEARS LATER

The final parts of the previous novel, "The sting in the only
head,". August 1995. Reading backwards, to make it easier
forward. It's all happening after 2000th Year.


Inside Vladimir's room, fog and foreboding gush
through memory. As it lifted itself present. In all shades of
gray. Crossed and torn sentence of missed questions.
From the plains, which the city lights and fatigue breaks in
a simplified geometry, comes the voice of reconciliation:
"I would ask you, if she could hear me, whether it was
courage, while he (The leader there) ruled the country, to
write lines that speak of the fact that he, the leader, his
people deceived and betrayed. However, I wrote more
about us that we have lost themselves in these ten years.
The answer would be yes, even with little pathos the view.
I know, because you loved me. I could ask the same
question that my friend, the renowned writer, who now
regrets what the Communists are not persecuted.
In addition, some are acquaintances. He would like to fix it
in his own biography. Aureole of the victims would fit him
well. Who knows the reason it is not enough literary
success. He would tell me, the good ruler, with a smile that
should alleviate the discomfort response, said that civil
courage this type is also a literary quality. And he would be
right. "
Miroslav Vladimir thinks that the listing "The only
sting in the head," the novel the nineties. In order to
measure yourself and determine Davidovic share. To see
what's written to the end of 1997. Moreover, what
happened before and after? At the end of The string "
writes:
"When I attended in early August on a business trip to
southern Serbia, driving Lada'
6
', returning from Medvea,
through the media is a dull premonition of circulating recent
offensive by Croatian troops in the region of Lika, Banija
and Kordun. We read very day in the "Daily Telegraph"
7

about it. These are parts of former Yugoslavia, but a few
years in our country called Republic of Serbian Krajina,
Croats seem to have decided not to call under that name!
Some powerful person in Europe or America has given
them support, and the power of modern Army sets off to
conquer parts of Plitvice
8
to Karlovac. In Serbia, the attack
received a lot of cold-blooded, with the conviction that
Krajina strong enough to defend, or with a political
assessment that we are not able to help the local
compatriots. In times of political evil, in fact, for humanity is
hardly what is left. In addition to discomfort because they
are somewhere not too far away, fighting a war again, or I
am not overly concentrated in a panic News that came. As

6
This is a car made in Russia at the time, popular in-Yugoslavia.
7
Belgrade daily newspapers of the time.
8
Plitvice lakes are one of the most attractive parts of the former
Yugoslavia.
to the scene of actual warfare somewhere outside. Beyond
that point of the life for which morning wake up.
Knin
9
failed to become our Alamo.
10
Nevertheless,
not because the defenders lacked the courage and
patriotism. The reason lies in the instability of the
intersection of geography and ethnic balance. The figures,
scenes, accident at a distance - were things we are
accustomed to these years, no matter how it sounded
cynical. I In addition to occasionally listen to the radio; I
was cruising Jablanica region dealing with their journalistic
activities. Convinced that a professional engagement was
enough for the peace of the soul. At the end of 1. August
week, satisfied with work done, went to the highway and
approach Belgrade. News from the Krajina was talking
about the incredible loss. "D. Telegraph" was the forefront.
Television is still mute. And there is rapidly disintegrating,
Army, and states. What actually had happened? The
people went panic into flight. In Serbia. Simply be poured
out rivers of human unhappiness. Paths, side road and
highway. As per the order.
The first refugees from Krajina, we saw around
Batoina: the tractor with trailer, covered with nylon, the
whole family, from children to old people. Titova
Korenica, Benkovac, Knin and Glina, Obrovac, Vrpolje,

9
Knin is city in Dalmatian Frontier, a symbol of Serbian presence in
this region, which is incomprehensible to quickly surrendered to the
Croatian army.
10
This is an allusion to the North American heroic battle against
overwhelming Mexican army.
Polaca ...
11
On the road. With all movable property. The
poor and alone. The wealthy are already several weeks
ago escaped from Krajina. Gray-faced, big eyes and
anxious anticipation. Escape to the country following the
defeat, which they exiled from the land of their
grandfathers. I wonder if I was, they once caught national
euphoria. Then dramatically multiplied the number and
type of refugee vehicles. Trucks, luxury cars and again
tractors, carts. Concerned people in them. Despair and the
hope of the promised help of my compatriots. Again the
Serbs on the highway! This time on It is not a force but the
consequence of those threats which of Belgrade began
before five years. And I'm pleased to be alive and working.
A relatively healthy. Tricked her life from which the refugee
is much worse!
At the toll gate Bubanj Potok, as long as the detour
routes managed to reach these homeless, followed by a
shock: the militia but a lot of moderate and hard column
does not allow homeless entrance to Belgrade.
Somewhere someone is so decided. That picture is not
stuffiness conscience and consciousness of the capital.
The ramp lowered. Unfortunates not a sight to Belgrade.
Red-hot asphalt. Thirst and disappointment. Quarrels,
threats, pleas, persuasion. Supplication and official orders.
Crying, anger, helplessness.
And from the sky - wild August. While paying the toll, watch
this galimatias on the edge of the capital. From the lips of
people exhausted and humiliated, as if heard only one
word: Treason! In my mind, it returns to the summer when I

11
These are villages in Croatia from which fled to Serbia.
am on the second part of the highway, near Surin, looked
confidently at the tank column rise through the ranks of
euphoric compatriots. It's been almost five years. The war
is lost. Tractors with refugees trying to enter now in
Belgrade, and there to seek peace. The government stops
them, because they set aside the second schedule. Maybe
better, but who is going to explain to those who have lost
everything, even the graves. Should avoid hiding. When
night falls, people from Krajina
12
, will enter the back roads
to the outskirts of its capital. This time, however, they will
not heartily as when they left the war, would be welcomed.
The people of Serbia lost original war fervor! Is it because
of embarrassment? They waved as they have only until
euphoria lasted to the National. The losers, and thus do
not have the right to understand.
While my companions bitterly, occasional and
touched, comment on this arduous scene, I was not any
easier because I already know that one summer tank the
column send off with suspicion and fear for the future. I
was convinced that a bunch of steel rolled along the
highway does not bode any good. In a day when many
people peacefully went to Cyprus and Greece to spend the
summer. Since Croatia Coast has not worked. They had to
fight against us!
On the outskirts of Belgrade, we enter into the rain.
It will stream the refugee column, on Bubanj Potok, lack of
trouble. Moreover, I was shocked and horrified. I thought,
as the incidents on the highway, it seems, are becoming

12
The territory of Croatia wears historical name of Krajina as a
memorial to his role of the defender of the Christian territories of the
Turkish raids and looting of the early 18th century.
part of my destiny! The beginning of changes. Voja Bruji
13

14
illustrator, musician and illusionist, by character from
Beckereks early works, I met him at the bridge near
Smederevo, the column at a standstill, he thinks it is better
either accept the fight As Zivojin Misic, duke, proposed
before the Albanian Golgotha "!



13
V. Brujic is a poet and prose writer, born in Bekereku. Very talented
and imaginative, but unrestrained temperament and facing all kinds of
manipulations, often falls into no artistic problems and difficulties.

CHAPTER
Three

DAILY BUS

March 2003. Zrenjanin.
15
The bus to Novi Sad. Serbia.
Vojvodina.



A typical day in the life of Miroslav Vladimir. The city
is a big house, and houses a small town, I reminded just
this morning when we all look different: impression that the
court, where he allegedly stepped just a minute ago, pulp
inelastic, similar to the gap that exists within the medical
socks could prove to be a nearly real. In different
circumstances. And another day, which has at least a hint
of elation. Thus, the feeling is there, only the court was not
realistic. It lasted, impression, about ten minutes. As an
indication of possible provocations. For a few hours the
impression repeated. As a flurry anxiety in expectation of
something totally different. Only he, the man who seeks

15
This is in fact the current name of the city Beckerek. That name is
the name of the city in the Banat worn for hundreds of years. In one
meomentu called and Petrovgrad. Zrenjanin name comes from the
surname of the hero of resistance during World War II
only to reach the end of one of your meaningless days,
authenticity stay interspace spoiled the fact that from his
apartment actually comes directly to smear all over ever
West Boulevard. Without going into any sort of lobby like
yard. From his routine balloon filled almost provincialisms
Life goes right in simulated spate of big city lifeless. It
disappears when the eye hysteria subsides. Part of
confusion then the leaking in Novi Sad, where the end
daily travel many people from Beckerek. The rest of the
morning overpass neurosis puts into the local city center.
The simulation of the yard, uncertain and all the early
spring, was still rather more like the description of the book
which I read tonight. ''Cottage garden'', author R.. Dog,
me duty, who, immediately after leaving the apartment as
an apparent constant, followed by the image court, out of
sorts on the way to the bus station, barking in the edge
unequal geometry of space, however, comes directly from
personal childhood. Or something. In the last night book
was no the dog. Feeling that it is in the yard that there is no
rational, however, says enough about his reluctance to that
morning with own will enroll in the day that the bridge
harshly and nervously accelerates. While clouds, Banat
and lead no compassion enter fuzzy skyscraper in sight.
And Sophie is sleeping. As a man, under narcosis
morning absurdity, uncertain goes down the street, the
impression, the court was definitely compromised the real
break in his early confusion.
Listening female sentence that is deposited over all:
''Breathing another epoch. Dance of clotted blood and
mold in shadow''. At the end of that statement is, of tender
years, physiognomy ura Popovic who was the earlier
Tuesday met in the street ''Ivo Lola Ribar''. In which both
adults. After meeting in June 1968th , was and is the
second, random, contact. Clotted blood and mold! Talk
speech at the beginning of the nineties Years's, Terazije,
faced the two friends from Student demonstrations.
16

The dog seems to slowly give up, while he hurry on to the
bus station, all quickly leaving the impression of the literary
garden whose mobility inevitably loses battle with real, and
a little flushed on Wednesday. In fact, with him, journalists
respectable age, with which the morning went to work and
the author of poetry and prose. The same name but
different aliases. Who often and persistently interfere with
easier submission diverse platitudes. Do not double but
unrequited twins. One that transforms the simple things in
crucial question.
A courtyard, but more belongs to him. As a writer.
Because the dog is truly part of the lot back in the private
reality. Journalist, who was occasionally a writer, who was
once Vladimir Petrovic while now signed literary
pseudonym Miroslav Vladimir. As it is still far from an
invention and with. Much better would be, for example, to
appoint himself as a writer - Maxwell Beagle.
17
As usual in

16
Large student demonstrations in 1968. Belgrade was the attempt of
young people from the former Yugoslavia to the ruling communist
change and adapt to the times and to improving the lives and
democracy in that country. That insurgency against totalism,
unfortunately, ended the regime orchestrated deception.
17
M. Beagle is a writer
good but not very popular crime novels in the mid-eighties, but at the
same time he is a close relative of Miroslav Vladimir.
the prose of his late uncle represented. Thereby this
mystification would complete and effective. And she needs
in life and especially after the copyright dispute with some
Petar Davidovic. That took place early in 2001. Actually at
the moment when the novel, which is writing the latter
practically forced of Vladimir, experienced many positive
impressions.
The explicit want Davidovi's, executor of the literary
works, actually V. Petrovic (Miroslav V.), is not in the book
specifically said co-authorship of the emigrants, which did
not bother to do the same later as a sign of incorrect. For
this reason, and more other, all of which later writes
literary, the writer-journalist, published under a new name:
Miroslav Vladimir. Such dreams as he thought about the
dog, yard and the day that nothing promised. Of course,
about how rewards are not important . Which learned from
the letter dated later, his friend, wins awards poets, from
the capital.
Passing the end of the kiosks, which only the West
Boulevard is not dipped in gray, it is almost yellow and soft
angles, I read through yesterday's newspaper headline
''Chris Patten on Friday tells delegates of the Assembly of
Serbia and Montenegro''. I do not see though that
newspaper in question. It is not ''Borba''.
18
Perhaps the
''Vecernje Novosti''
19
Error! Reference source not
found.Error! Reference source not found.. Red letters
on the front page!

18
This is the official newspaper of the Socialist Alliance, an
organization that simulate competition Communist Party.
19
The most popular daily newspaper of the time
I have to run - a bus with blue, flushed letters just as
he reached the Station. Today it is ''Tisa-transport'' early
up . Maybe the rain. Morning, perfect for irrelevance. While
the bus doors closed, the wall of darkened red brick, which
closes the ugly market complex, directly affects me in the
eyes of a random collage poster neglected: smear all over
parts of Seselj,
20
black-white beard and painted Vuk
Draskovic,
21
in the splendor 'Photo Shop'', rhomboid by
Kostunica, Djindjic shirt 'Otpores''. And, somewhere from
the edge of space, which disappears as the bus moves -
almost intact group 'Neverne bebe''. All, except the
''Bebe''
22
, the remainder of the election. And ''Bebe'' virtual
music heaven. In my head. Mystical-erotic, surreal
compositions. I like to hear: ''Lie that well, demolishes
everything''. Vehicle length soon grim in Banat, in the one
remaining before the Tisza, rather depressed, as in any
early spring. Me, however, attracts a quote on the occasion
of Mladen Markov
23
: '' The classic fable of the novel,
'Burial of his father'', built in the narrative paradox -
although it has announced the title of the novel, burial, as a
basic template topic, constantly postponed until the end of

20
Leader used strong nationalist and chauvinist Radical Party -
finished in the Hague Tribunal.
21
Vuk Draskovic, Vojislav Kostunica and Zoran Djindjic were
opposition leader who fought against the dictatorship of Slobodan
Milosevic. The other two were later came to power in the former
Yugoslavia.
22
It is a musical group "Neverne babies" with ballad-thinking sound,
which is still popular.
23
It is a Serbian novelist and storyteller with a predominantly realistic
and naturalistic style.
novels are not implemented''. I wonder, out of sorts, where
we thought that this leaving me with meaningless day?
Just disgusting and without burial.
For me the month of March still suspicious. This conclusion
is, after so many replacements in memory, may be defined
simply as the paranormal facts. Subjective, but tangible.
Very personal but empirically substantiated. No matter
what I Ides of 'March theme'' for decades besieged his
alleged heroic tragedy, in the long Roman overturns
historical act, with the years that I pass, find much less
cruel character's fate and much more fattening radical
political shortcuts. Opera scenery, too. Even sticky fingers
practical struggle for authority and power. Caesar and
Brutus, as people, we were always, somehow, in the
background. Brutus in particular. At a time when the gods
existed, political murder justified by the implementation of
their will. Divine. What is in the Polytheism passed by
consensus? And Brutus and Caesar occur only as actors
act in which the Heroism only later I suspected villas and
moralistic. Theatre grotesque which repeated indefinitely.
In the name of God, people, ideas and the like.
However, in the March morning bus, a reminder of
this is not the worst way to bridge the nearly hour stuffy
time. When already giddily March. In a long-distance bus,
trapped in odor rain sprinkling clothes that evaporates.
For midweek midday bus, transport companies, in Beej
unusually full. That pale-blue, with yellow letters. Day from
the morning clouds. Simply, all loaded all kinds banality.
How meteorology is not the worst. In the Newspapers
incoherent spend a few hours in the mood that is worse
than the weather. Miroslav Vladimir, without writers
premeditation, left sitting in the newsroom too. Too early in
relation to prescribed working hours. A late when staying
intersects with meaning. These Wednesdays that
squeezes of boredom - as if Tuesday was better. But, he
sits so unnecessary, it seems, but several months. Do not
get almost any journalistic tasks and I do not have enough
resolve to find the right theme. Music through the sound
system in the bus usually unpleasant one.
Year 2003. 12th Day in March. Vladiimir usually tense:
ready for somebody, secretary of the editorial board, such
as, called on the mobile, because the editor had just
remembered that he, who has traveled home, best suited
for a banal task of urban events. What will the time give a
younger worker with him and leave as enumerated in the
hallway. Because, apparently, did not arrive in time to
return. As known in advance that it is impossible. Goga,
typist, his secretary from the time when the managed, that
it was four years attracted only because it resembles the
amazing Alexandra, will watch it ironic and pityingly at the
same time. He deserves this inappropriate emotional
compensation. Not sure whether outside rain, but the day
is such that something worse expected. Snow! The driver,
a black shirt with short sleeves, heating to enhance border
strange nervousness. In large-headed general mirror
image of the latest wares. Formally not prohibited. This
morning, when he came to Novi Sad was chilly. Music
silent. Only the local folklore of the tambura.
Not wakened and silky, with motivation for life in general
almost zero, it is hardly concluded. Because the bus was
already almost two decades for him only more or less
repulsive means to transfer his body from the space to
sleep in places where the poor feel. And where it is also a
little pay. As the bus approaches Zabalj
24
, of course, and
for several years before that, Miroslav Vladimir no longer
fears for his career. It is already far away. Traveled. This
time the road is a pure survival. Psyche and dignity. Unlike
a few of his friends who make more or not the demand.
Because they - the dead, however they are severely
sounds on time! No more trouble with their survival.
Vladimir remembered that this morning, somewhere on the
plateau in local Bank communities, just below where the
Vuk Draskovic the chin, all in 'Photoshop'', touching the
'Neverne bebe ''at the moment, just when he stepped into
the morning the bus station, saw Drago Karamati,
classed participant melodramatic affair from the Seventies.
And On the road, some meters away from the bus, are
unclear, but saw stains of blood back, almost obscured,
mirror on the asphalt, incorrect, like jellyfish. Just
remember that Arsenije Colak.








24
A small town in the middle of the highway between Beckerek and
Novi Sad, the capital of the province of Vojvodina.

Chapter
Four

SOPHIA'S DINNER

Miroslav remembers. Bekerek. The 1997th Western
Boulevard. Apartment Vladimir Miroslav and his wife.


A woman sitting in the kitchen and dinner. On wooden
coasters cut some dried meat product. Probably bacon.
Photo insufficiently sharpness. In her hand a knife. A
woman named Sophia. The knife has a black handle. On
the table is still the salt shaker and a plate next to it is full
of something from a distance resembles the fried meat or
cut into small pieces of pie. Or maybe even Christmas
cake. What would it mean that the recording made after
Christmas. Miroslav none of we do not see at first. Just
note that Sofia dinner. She dinner alone, that is unusual for
her. But while the Polaroid does "leak" of a photograph, He
does not notice anything unusual. Although his idea to
photograph his woman while eating is not daily treatment.
How many hours can only be when she have dinner? In
the kitchen, of course, burning bright.
While Miroslav photographed, Sofia is not too
happy. The facial expression betrays her lack enthusiasm.
It is poor. The following diseases. Not made-up. The
woman, apparently at the of discontent. Miroslav obviously
does not notice. Or maybe you want the act of shooting to
wake her from noticeable lethargy. To revive its died down
interest in communication. Or, at least to her,
photographing, drawing attention with his delay. The usual.
And daring.
While years later, with reason, browsing photos,
Miroslav noticed that the picture with Sofia, recorded in 22
hours, 11 of April. No year! At least a said ''Polaroid''
mechanical marker, on the background images. So, there
is no question about Christmas! Year, that is not recorded,
and there only his of speculation on things in the kitchen.
And based on memories at Sophia's physical and mental
health phase. One thing for certain is that then she was not
so good, that he came home late again. From work, or who
knows after that. At the end of the table were two glass
brandy. Container with ice. Sophia is in blue, ticker shirt
she wears  when out of the house. Or waiting for the
visit. The air is in sight and hidden anger. Sophie's. This is
obviously not photos from the time when it was already
after nine evening hours of sleep. Miroslav thinks about the
1996th year as a possible determinant which maybe time
to fit this image.
April, outdoors, silent there. It is cool. Year with altered
meteorology. Sofia is not good since his return from
Moscow. In Moscow she left because she was not so
good. She went without Miroslav because had to punish
him in any way. A tourist trip to her seemed ideal for this.
To show him how to be without a holiday themselves.
Unfortunately, there were actually kidnapped by self-
control. First, health has deteriorated. In fact, something in
her psyche for a long time they did not marry either in the
normal, the journey broken. Hysterics. After the fall in
depression. And excess alcohol. Then the hospital. The
strong drugs that have made chaos. The alleged
accommodation among alcoholics. Strange people
questioning who were not doctors. Miroslav, too, later
called the "Friendly" discussion in the Security Service on
the occasion of her illness in Moscow. Probably because
Sofia is in the party administration. And He the national
newspapers.
The man who spoke with him, or acquaintance from
the passage, a lover of literature and theater, was almost,
full of compassion. He asked him to discretion. If the
woman in the means while, remember something, it would
be, to tell him. No phone, but personally. Because official
records. However, Miroslav seemed that they do so out of
pure routine. And rules. In fact, none of them is not
particularly interested in the Moscow incident of Sophia.
The police have their own logic and its people a little
twisted curiosity!
Sorry for this buffoonery with a photograph - says
Miroslav after more than an hour of mutual biting. I look
terrible, Sofia conciliatory note. Better to paint me back.
Perhaps in that light I act natural Appears light and half-
smile on her face. You always side with the concentrated
look - carefully Miroslav is joking. Gently hug her, unsure
whether to offer resistance. She gets up from the chair
where she spent almost the entire evening. Midnight is.
The building is occasionally lifted and heard the usual
quarrels with the couple's third floor. Yells a man and a
woman it quite reasonable annoying. The ritual. Miroslav
not hungry. His wife removed chopping board, knife and
fork in the sink. The moment when he leaves the kitchen,
Sofia and placed two cups of liquor among the dirty dishes.
It looks as if it has something to hide. I thought, really, you
were again with that slut. But do not smell it. It seems you
are my senses. Do not answer Milan
25
, is asking as he did
not hear her allusion to his extra-marital sex. I'm worried
about the Milan relationship with Marina. She never quite
goes out. They return at night . He comes on Friday. Fits
women. And how is the mood in you. The "newness". The
people starve while your reporters continue to praise
leader.
At the end of the spring Sofia, again, was quite good.
Miroslav has ceased to dream of how drug addicts in
Russia and the fake haunted by doctors. In late fall she
joined the growing group of citizens are not satisfied.
Blows his whistle and protest against the regime. Miroslav
regularly went to his job and did not decide to at least
inquire who is all on the streets of Sofia and those who
think differently. And that is a lot of national political
cheating. Those with whom walks the streets of Sofia.
And who did not, however, in the same way rebelled
against the killings  in Croatia and Bosnia.
Summer, however, which preceded the autumn of the
walks and whistles, just be attacked Miroslav. He
observed that it is a miracle happens. As his wife wears

25
Apparently Milan is the son of Miroslav and Sophia, but novelist him
anywhere else in the novel does not mention it.
your body from the glass edge of panic. And he did not
see myself turning into a mechanism of self-sufficiency. In
his mind, opened transparent hell. Energy senses ran their
apartment. In fact, he was the real owner of panic. Her
body and his panic. She, on the way to the mass of
malcontents go to meet it. Miroslav bound flight suspected
that because of the sin crack of light did not see a space
that established in the mass of citizens. Sofia after
chemistry dominated and matter. While the Western
Boulevard every day, with dinner, flourished new energy.
Opposition. Miroslav Vladimir, however, almost unwittingly
becomes a prisoner of devastating personal routines.
Chapter
Five

ALL THEN STARTED WITH TANKS

Nice, Belgrade, in 1999. Then a novel "The sting in the only
head'' (2). 1991st

At dusk, which is quite trivial and not historical, what
usually happens on the periphery of a large city, because
only the central parts of such cities always have a mask
the real, historical time. Luxury city of Nice in many ways is
one of those pretentious but insufficiently large colonies,
the former Petar Davidovic, sitting in the yard that looks
right in the car graveyard, you may a rather second-rate
car scrap. He read on a computer, with website
"geopolitics" an unexpected text:
"The heroes of the new novel by Vladan Petrovic, titled
indeed adequate "The sting in the only head '' are
recognizable. These are the people around us, they who
until recently were there, most of them are people of fifty
years, merciless whip flows, ejected from the chamber,
daylight and spoiled life abolished the right to hope,
shattered reality, people who have lost footholds. Their
stories tight, broken, everything is in fragments and
everything broken, and even their memories". He enters
the name Petrovi in the browser, the idleness, the bluish
screen woke this web article from several Belgrade
newspapers. Davidovic then recalls almost everything.
While in the spacious courtyard of an elderly dog, big and
slow, but cleverly quite reluctantly, with no real wish to play
but persistently, like a routine easy coercion, part of dog
training lessons, master tennis ball back, that this, name
Rajko Lazic, originating from Dorol, now a driver and
mechanic the "Peugeot's" service, the one across the
turntable at the sign to Grasse, the boredom is killing
margins of the great French city of Nice. Petar, middle-
aged man and almost blaze, I suspect that actually speaks
to him about the Pajkovic Miladin, as it called by the view,
especially when he says that "all broken, and even their
memories. " However, that the Internet just soon, here and
now, reading Belgrade reviewers note, it means that he,
immigrant P. Davidovic, although with a new identity, is
actually alive in spite of newspaper news that the alleged
killer. U Andorra. While the news about it, years ago,
published in A Nice Maten ", what's helped Davidovic
certain Miller. A man with many semi-legal skills.
Baldui Oskar, a dealer of used cars, to the current identity
of the former French Petrovi's partners. Remembering
him scattered, but that's not important.
False death was a way to go even deeper into the official
anonymity. At a time when reading from the Internet record
of Petrovi's novel, which never did not have on hand, with
the bitterness of thinking that what they Vladan jointly
written ten years ago he managed to sell so well. That It
even, the novel, showing the capital's newspapers.
A novel "The sting in the only head '' wrote in late 1999,
poet and critic Miladin Pajkovi, Petrovi's acquaintance
with the study. And Davidovic, too. Communist supporters,
although not part of the regime. But who knows ...? The
outcome crazy wars are not could have predicted just a
nave or craze. Pajkovi is, however, had a clear highland
origin. In Belgrade came from the village below mountain
Durmitor. Careful and wise. In the Novi Sad hotel room,
hotel "Traveler", the first floor, with a view the former
Provincial Committee, Vladimir Petrovic earlier, on similar
thinks of such things:
"I was at that time one of those mentioned by fifty
Pajkovi writes about. Employed in state newspapers. In
working hours. At night write sentences that contradict my
daily involvement. Ketman, in the words of Czeslaw Milos.
Opportunism and fear, at the same time. However, daily, in
four walls, dictate sentences disagreement with the regime
my electronic "trustee" - computer marked "386". These
are sentences that I agree on what will called "The sting in
the only head ''. Davidovic was for some time in Italy,
where he also lives, called Baldui. He is engaged in
criminal activity. What has already started in Andorra. For
some reason, his successful attempt to destroy the
memory trace the real Petar Davidovic. Petrovic, Vladimir
actually present, it keeps track of the delay of a few
months. Perhaps incorrectly, but consistently. For all sorts
of motives. Novel "The only sting in the head's not much
change Miroslav Vladimir fate. At least not for the better.
Only create the illusion. The notion that means something
in the literary circles of the capital. He has planted a bit and
feeling of unease about Davidovi co-authoring. What is
not clearly indicated, Petar, believing that his only intention
of rehabilitation and not their own families and literary
fame. With this novel, "The only sting in the head ', where
he writes:
"My dream only in millimeter pen left. What,
however futile the rotting ceramic refuge unnecessary
things that kept me from the evil eye. The word clotted
because all the books in which I believed defeated. One
that I wrote in his youth, first succumbed. The dream of the
following state: from the reality and every there is no place
for living and subconscious illusion. Images open form
masters the ground. Photography and Television.
Unmediated reality everywhere. And how long? Only,
selective and exclusive. Overdosed. Summer is the ugly
Autumn. After the winter with batons and tanks. And the
March demonstrations. Again I am in Belgrade. Back and
forth through the valley, which is rotting in the wells.
Bekerek - Novi Sad - Belgrade. For too long we inhale
glue hidden in the daily press. Anesthesia is done prompt
and skillful. Everything happens as if ordered and I know
that something will really be good. And in the long run. Evil.
It took just go to Belgrade to understand what to expect.
For provinces and even late the bad news. I would image.
No photos, but a realistic view of Surrealism is about to
happen. Project evil person. Overture. Great patriotic
operettas.
In the future the book "Leaching of homeland" writes:
"During the day the ugly basin sketch for tomorrow.
Yesterday we threw. With panoramic look at the flood of
nonsense. Float cries and slogans. Confusion proclaims to
science. Objectives we spend a day. The course turns into
a slaughter. How to get back into balance. " By now you
know: not at all. At least in the years ahead. What I saw
the driveway beside Surcin, shock from which it could not
breathe. It was much worse than in March, at the end of
the Belgrade demonstrations. Against of government. In
which the most eloquent speakers were the same as those
politicians whose supporters more years to voluntarily take
part in a dirty war over geography dismantled communism.
"


Chapter
Six

ORDINARY DAY WHEN ALL WENT
BACKWARDS

Highway. Belgrade. 1991st, an excerpt from the novel "The
sting in the only head'' (3) Introduction to the Yugoslav
wars.
26




Sofia no longer snores in the bedroom, although
from today's perspective it all seems like ancient idyll.
When I was ten years ago, attended the Belgrade airport, I
could not suspect that to me, all quiet civilian life, so soon
become just part of the better memories. In the previous
novel, she still slumbers, Which apparently is not romantic,
but when the life in this country on all sides biting it's more
than cute prosaic details, that will never become part of
any family history. Sophia, then, in the midst of the

26
In this war, which lasted from 1991 to 1995 were all the peoples of
the former Yugoslavia and the consequences of all was the
disintegration of the state and the formation of
6 nation states.
Yugoslav internal war, knows how to snore. Lightly.
Citizens'. Without consequences. While boring afternoon
glides the night, that can still become desperate.
"Later, after only half an hour, when I came out on the
highway, the scene of the war that just begins, ceremonial,
social-realist, but these and ironic, is suppressed, however
does impressions on the margin of consciousness. Even
the reason why I was that day at the airport. I became,
simply, part of the human crowd materially transfers, mock,
lie, get carried away. Part of people who trying to think,
getting small smaller. Cancels the value of what little we
have left When communism stopped. However, I am
writing. Is fed into the oblivion that is getting faster. What
overtaking me.
This text opens deep in the night, because the strangest
things always happen to me in solitude, before the dream.
What is all the uglier continuing contact. What is the
prelude to what will come after the sleep. I lie in the flight
overheated room, while my head is mounted in the film
what I have in the morning saw on the highway: long
column of tanks, the crowd, which answered her and
seemingly carefree young men in military uniforms, in
rough and ominous machines.
At the end of the day, when it all began for me,
instead of sleep swept over me chaos that trying to rein in
writing. I tried, namely, to describe the image that I saw,
listening and its domestic footprint, take away the
sharpness of the scene which is money, not only my life at
the end "the dream of socialism." Down at the start of the
war much more. The remaining illusions. And the next
decade. However, the only permanent result of my
confidence in the power of words will only be a long-term
decline through the fog and pitfalls of writing. Introducing
directly into the dream life, I set out the soul of chronic
graft. Permanent causing noise in the image of the future.
Summer Day, Which started my free-fall through future
time, from early morning suggests heat, but not the
tragicomic but sinister war convoy, which to me,
unexpectedly, stopping somewhere near Batajnica.
I stop by the road, the military police took over the
regulation of traffic. Highway to the west, with a uniform
creaking of steel, surges gray-olive long procession
caterpillars. From the dome peep young, clipped head.
Illusion and Confusion.
See the adrenaline rush. hardly semiskilled soldiers,
untrained, doping only national euphoria, smile and
enough confused. I look at them and feel how I attack
tremors that can not curb. Porch and embarrassment:
when will there, somewhere, that attack? When they went
to places where most couples went on a trip to the sea,
there is silence. In empty plain. Holes in the brain. Signal
to panic. I go to Belgrade to spend time till evening. Hours
that even either do not exist in memory. Maximum
confused, then I moved to Novi Sad. That the highway, the
morning, now under cover of darkness and punched
headlights, returned to my mind scenes from the bulky
announcement close in convenience. Occasionally, I had
the impression that I drive by the heads of those this
morning a young man. The way we looked like a
combination of hallucinations and fighting with sleep. More
specifically - I was unconscious of themselves and the
world around me.
While traveling, I understood why Jovanovic
nevertheless chose to fit in. Hotel "Moscow". All of his
associations related to this renowned hotel were directed
to Imperial Russia and the former Belgrade, elegant and
long-stored in nostalgia.
When they wished the city where he was born, Jovanovic
could only summon him from the depths of memory. In the
hotel where light "Moscow."
Appeared in it, His Belgrade, was gone. His mother
was the daughter of the man from White Guard by the
exiled daughter of communism. But now the mother was
gone. There was no Soviet Union, Which was succeeded
by Russia. As a reluctant follower shattered communist
empire called the Soviet Union. I withdrew and us, the
inhabitants of the Balkans, with a slight delay, the common
Eastern European Ghetto. Jovanovic, surprisingly, was not
too impressed, or horrified, tank cavalcade. He was calm,
even smiling a bit. As we have seen that circus wagon.
The Balkans is not messengers of future trouble. I
have even and I almost quiet returned to Belgrade after a
few days. As they those monsters of iron, throwing
flowers and singing patriotic songs was just a bad dream.
Days after that Friday, a relatively peaceful, pleasant
implemented, mainly in Branko's society, visiting all those
places we Belgrade as Students happy to have visited,
especially courtyards, squares and our the Great Hall
which took place Revolutionary 1968 ''. As the tank
episode she moved to the third plan. Walks in the
memories, which are the only remaining of the project and
the nave equitable future, which we definitely lost
innocence and political dreams of equality, have entered
into an additional set of my life but she has not called pain.
On the contrary, reminded me that I used and I was part of
what rights History does not and will not negatively
evaluated.
Branko I saw off to France. This time the highway
was only in civilian use. Everyday life is emerging to the
surface again. Time at depth, however, changes still
occurred. Preparing to greatly return the twisted national
cave. I got used to the daily reports out there fighting
alongside the Danube, where the "Yugoslav Army took a
significant and patriotic participation" I was thinking
though, who knows how many times, for those unaware
the boys from the tanks highway, and wished that they
were not exactly in the center of the largest the fire.
Because they are not sent there to have paraded to solve
something by force what will be a few years later prove to
be a huge strategic and national a mistake.
For all I have, therefore, accustomed. Like the
majority. The only thing I have not managed to understand
real political background television broadcasting gruesome
scenes of mutilated people. The error is mine, it seems,
was that I also own criteria measured. While the standards
of those in power rapidly moved away the peaceful and
civilized. Over time I have, however, saw through the
reasons for such use afflicted the human matter: arouse
hatred. Fury. Preparedness to the rematch. It was the time
of vaccination and expressed political transfusion.
However, uncertainties are still coming one after another.
There were all kinds: social, national, political, media. I
slowly realized that people in my country are not just the
way I imagined them. The media have still created a
situation in Which war is the only way out. The war in
someone else's house. The war in others . What is the until
recently was common. Everything that is wrong is
awakened. Risen. "







Charpet
Seven
DAVIDOVI WRITES

"The sting in the head". Bekerek. Boulevard. Novi Sad. In
1991.


Vladan Petrovic (now Miroslav Vladimir) already
after three weeks of practicing with consignments
Davidovic found in torment. Writes in his literary journal
that should become the novel "The sting in the head":
"More to me not helpful prudence and dosed reading
chaos to me with his letter Petar imposes. Everything has
been already so blurred and changed in my life that I have
finally a detailed look at its letter and include it in mind as a
document of equal my hunches. It is possible that what we
serve in making extortion of our novel, incidentally, bound
destinies. I am not only an acquaintance from college,
which is at least partly successful in a literary work. With us
were the Sava Milisavljevi and Sasha Philip known and
respected writers of our generation. So why exactly - I? Is
the only reason - Alexandra? However, I start reading the
letter: Benjamin, by Davidovic killed at the hotel "Flora" in
Andorra, in the capital of this country. Moreover, he intends
to do so in the same hotel. To would have to be that his
resemblance to this important writer. Both of them are
immigrants and they both die of their own hands?
Supposedly, Walter Benjamin discloses its decision and
perhaps explains in a testamentary essay. While running
away from Nazism. And Davidovic? For a moment, I think,
is not that all that his gimmick with which intends to make
something here in the country? To disappear from public
view with a halo of martyrs, and there in the hills to
continue living a changed identity? He has with my ex-
girlfriend two sons! There are so Pavle and Miroslav.
Alexandra's mother! The presence of these young men,
and explains his fear for family, for at least one match for
the army!
And war is all around us. Davidovic to me, still
writes as his political interference in the events in the
country, indirectly, endanger his family. Whether he was an
active participant in the March demonstrations, and now
fears from police retaliation? It follows then a request that
of his manuscripts draw up something that will literary
value will be
defense his family from life's disasters? But all in vain:
those who will accuse him, the police, courts, politicians
almost certainly will not read my version, its truth as such
nothing ever read, they all know in advance.
It is true, however, that he does not have time to start over
literary work, if the suicide was not announced ordinary
farce. What you're bragging about my literary skills, about
which almost nothing, you know, down to the perfidious
titillation of vanity - not to refuse. Alexandra mentions only
in passing, but I am sure that in the next letter, and she
used will be more powerful.
At the time my view back to the previous page of the letter:
mention the storm that you dispelled "from the battlefield to
exile." You are undoubtedly one of the refugees, then who
did of yours on the battlefield. That is what I asked you a
letter, you do not know to which address to send you
because you left out. If I could write to you, would you
answer me? You might have imagined that all the answers
I need to invent. How do I find out if one of your sons on
the battlefield is? Nevertheless, why this game with me?
In the texts that have already arrived, I did not even feel
the need to intervene. There remain me I hope that the
following attachments to me leave at least a chance that
the composition of these documents shows some of their
own creativity. How do I find out where Alexandra lives?
Now I have a good reason to call her without making her or
himself do not bring in an awkward situation to each other,
we apologize for the old misunderstanding. Petar's letter
provides a real an alibi for the contact. First, after twenty
years of separation.
That left me more one text from shipment. Neither
Benjamin has not sufficiently met nor is it possible that
Petar arrives and the next letter would be more news about
it! In the meantime, I have to help Sofia's younger brother
to return to Slavonian front. We found him in Pakrac easily
wounded. Should be organized as soon as his back while
officials do not change their minds. Sofia cries every day.
Truly I do everything in my power but the people in the
local command reported fear of provocateurs, it is
necessary to collect 3 000 German marks. We live very
poorly. In fact on the verge of despair. Inflation is raging.
Already thinned daily foreign exchange reserves have
shrunk to the edge of existential horror. Steeped in the
intriguing case Davidovic, I feel like less hassle their
household. I'm not running aware of what happens to
everybody. It should sustain a family, but my parallel world,
which I set up with Petar, it helps me to better give this
miserable time. With a hidden shame having literature as
an excuse. I started thinking about Benjamin as a fact of
my life. No matter what physically exists. Not in mine, but
not in his life.
Circulating through the city on the new night
mobilizations. Young men are hiding in other people's
homes. They are hiding from the messengers and military
patrols. Establish the life illegal. Adults, parents, relatives,
posing as accomplices, while television establishes false
patriotism. Times have duplicate reality. Something,
however, is wrong with this war. Winter iprolonged.
Exclusions electrical currents are common. Again, candles
and oil lamps. People suffering but as they have no idea
that they could rebel. In this land of wonders, it's called
patriotism. "








Charpet
Eight
BUS IN RETURN

Regional road Novi Sad - Bekerek. 2003rd Boulevard.
Day of the assassination!


Still is Wednesday. Miroslav Vladimir is convinced
that they're bearable, more pleasant, less stressful part of
the day. If anything, comes afternoon in which will not be
Max Staji, its chief editor? Which him alternately
denigrates and torments. Because he's the boss. Bald. A
failed poet. She lives with her mother in the house. As a
single. Neurotic. And unfortunately - educated. I recently
powerful.
The Bus. Again. In the opposite direction than this
morning. View of the "Seiko" shows 12.05. The conductor,
the same this morning, a woman who is just about to enter
their best years, plump, almost coquettishly pent into
something that should be work clothes. Confidential him
communicated that the monthly ticket, if removed in Becej
nearly two hundred dinars cheaper. Although the
information is not uninteresting, because for months in the
"red", Miroslav ignores her but she thinks so amazingly like
one of his heroes from the novels "The jump in insomnia."
Rounded Jelica is remarkably similar to this morning's
conductor. Alexandra and Sophia from "The stitches in the
head", however, are quite different. Aleksandra more
complicated and Sofia mellows. Though his novels are not
relevant when women from the life in question.
Conductor continues to throw about his politeness
and other passengers. The man in the seat next to
Vladimir, dressed in a dark blue-gray clothes worn by the
security people, he has to write on the back the name of
the company, sleeping in all directions. So that his head, in
almost regular intervals, arrives at the reporter's shoulder.
This, however, is trying to read a travelogue Ivan Bunin
27

on a cruise in the Mediterranean. Benjamin was still in his
bag. In Bunin travelogue turn took the chapter on visiting
the Holy Land. Red-hot stone, spirituality flustered. Laying
aside books to knee Miroslav Vladimir is, almost without
cause, engage in reflection on how the interpretation of
certain details of a literary work, based on knowledge of
certain facts of the writer's personal life, relevant and
legitimate. Respectively - wrong! The novel "The sting in
the head" in quite a number of displays has suffered such
behavior. Warm and quite distinctive breath from the
neighbor's head, which again was on his shoulder, for a

27
Bunin, Russian writer and Nobel laureate, would probably get along
with Walter Benjamin because they were both after the initial
enthusiasm with Communism, persecuted and vilified by the Soviet
dictatorship. So their friendship in Vladimir suitcase,and at bus seat,
possible
and cute!
moment interrupted the bus in this fantasy. DNA analysis
of creativity, carried out in a stinking public transport.
The fact that it's no longer just provincial journalist, a
reporter who actually work in the big city and living in the
province. He is now a writer and novelist who was at one
time, a year or two, quite satisfying read and reviewed, and
then quickly forgotten. However, in this midday bus, and 12
March 2003 this fact is not anyone upset. Bunin had
otherwise, very vivid and poetic, but pages of Christ's
homeland mean to reach out to Miroslav. While reading
them, have the same feeling as when pushing in
themselves oversized pill some analgesics. "Zabalj
crossroads. 12: 20. I return Bunin travel writing in her
purse. Today is not a day that I dedicate to him. About
Calvary and stone temptations, I will think it snows. Bunin
is stored next to Benjamin's Moscow. Then think of a dog
that followed me this morning. And then the unexpected:
the phone. Mobile. "Ericsson". Sound like when you break
the glass! I think: Chief Editor. And I am already ready for
some stupid reason enough. At first, I do not discern who
is speaking. There is Olga, a friend of the newspaper,
Belgrade. We have been together a week ago at a theater
premiere in Belgrade. Excited shouts directly into the brain:
they killed Prime Minister! Not yet published, but the
information is secure. They shot him in front of the
Government. Horrible. Horror. It is creepy. They killed
him...
Connection canceled. Breaks. I finally went on the
disbelief rainy day. Still in a daze, looks back on the bus.
To whom say something that is not official. Nobody. The
radio music unchanged. 12:45. And Miroslav knows that
now and again changes everything in this country tired of
the bad times and crazy combinations. Which has just
begun to recover? Place he does not hold. Panic
overwhelmed him. Panic body which do not know what to
do with himself and the terrible knowledge which the
majority just to find out. Now, in his yet born writer. As if he
felt that, this was history. Therefore, it is something
happening generally in delicate moments of life. Maybe
because he overestimates the role of art in everyday life. In
a blur like to see again, refugee convoys on the highway.
Not the tanks that the apparent force go to Vukovar, for
tractors and trucks swarming crying and frightened people.
This Assassination within reach of the Ides of March all
returns to beginning.
Still quite impressed by news that he received a
mobile phone, with exclusivity, which is essentially
meaningless, and the need to finally give anyone, barged
into his apartment. Now when, with a lot of pathos in
gesture, intends to communicate that to her, Sofia intercept
him - "They killed the Prime Minister. Now they just
reported on TV. Miroslav thought, do it all over again:
when he travels worn intercity bus, life happens instantly!
At least for the moment. Rushing into unwanted. But then
again slowed down.
Not even in that moment exclusive. Is it out of him
speaks journalistic instincts. For a real journalist is the one
who the first to announce the news of his own death!
Horrified these slogans, but even more the previous
disappointment, that he was not the first who said Sofia
that the prime minister killed. The one she adored.
The next day was a sunny day. Nature does not
know how to empathize. On the job, he held until the end
of time. If not longer. State of emergency. Some things,
That, but next week will again be important, in the day after
the assassination, it is meaningless. And it neared the term
when they should again face the inconvenience. In which
he fell from a meaningless habit life interferes with
journalism and literature. However, are the unpleasant
duties in a direct relationship with Sophia's unfortunate trip
to Moscow? Everything was different and welcome to the
Wednesday noon, again becomes different from what
might have been. Miroslav Vladimir, at the turn of the
wonderland, yet it remains trapped in the mirror. The
wizard has suddenly departed. Bus, morning, continue
your routine while everything becomes more and more
relative.
Chapter
Eight

THE SECOND TEXT FROM DAVIDOVIC

"The sting in the head" (8.) Battlefield somewhere in
Dalmatia
28
. In 1993.


I plan to read a few of the most essential facts to
Walter Benjamin, before I continue this mindless toying
with the life. For him, that Walter is too big unknowns that
the Purchaser of this manuscript, perhaps with deeper
reason introduced into my field of vision. However, other
Davidovic text, accidentally and unintentionally took it in his
own hands, because he fell out of the envelope, forcing me
to immediately look at and comment on. Over order. It was
a sign that my job to rearrangement life and writings Petra
Davidovic go in at least three directions. The first will give
the choice of writing that we are coming; I was another
attempt to impose, by their own lights literary logic, while it
is certainly to and align text organization within language,
data, and figures, means hidden internal processes,
independently developed. Walter Benjamin and his only

28
Dalmatia is a traditional ethnic and cultural region in Croatia, which
stretches along the coast of the Adriatic Sea. By some indications, the
author of this novel has its roots in these areas.
destiny are added complication to me. While I've written
the last word became clear to me that I had just started
using the same mechanisms by which Davidovic defend
this apparently strange literary attempt. Moreover, at the
beginning of the second manuscript, which we sent former
acquaintance, writer, adventurer, or tragic, written:
Under his feet, he felt the Dalmatian rocky ground, ten
kilometers from Obrovac.
29
It's February in 1993 year.
Around it is all gray. Like a stone, and the sky is colorless
in this war winter. Everything is very dark gray except
clotted blood on his right sleeve. The wound was diaper
day before. Started bleeding yesterday. He wounded last
Monday night in a rather chaotic gunfight. Somewhere in
the direction of this match must howling Croat artillery. The
village Kai yesterday destroyed an enemy commando
group. An hours walk through space, neither the birds do
not fly. They were moving in a column by one and the
hours that last twice. In-group, however, everyone feels
lonely. Return from action, and no enthusiasm. As if, they
were all the same: victory or defeat. One has only to go
back through the damned, baked dry, gray wasteland,
avoid minefields, which planted by the system of general
craziness. Ignore the disfigured corpses, kill anyone who is
not on their side, and carry weapons. Under his feet, he felt
every stone. Each crease land that is now nobody. As if to

29
In the former Yugoslavia, Obrovac, or a very small place, nailed to
the mountains, on the edge of the sea, was an important center for the
processing of bauxite ore. Apart from aluminum, rumored, that in this
factory produced some important components for sophisticated
weapons. It seems to be the reason for the destruction of the small
town.
soles concentrated everything that from the eyes and
conscience, weeks and even cruel war, unconsciously
wiping out. The war lasts cruelly and without conviction.
Instead of courage in space released insanity. The
remaining seven looking Obrovac. If it still does. Except to
map, which will never be valid?
The town, at the bottom of the hill, is moldy before the
war, all blended in nature with no visual properties; it must
exist because the rest, people-soldiers, just want to him to
return. While moving towards the starting point, they
understand, if there is no Obrovca, will not be them! It was
night, span until dawn, when they went into action. Led by
two of the local's people. One, infatuated announcements
quick and just win, others, deeply aware of the dangers of
work that they started. They set out to teach the enemy a
lesson. They burned the first one village. Abandoned. They
told that the Ustasha
30
settlement. The village, however,
was empty. Then, from the extraneous dark, flue shot. A
single, and went into his shoulder. First, he felt the heat of
the bite, then astonishment. He just wondered why me? I
immediately figured, it would be pronounced the same
every man from the group, because there was only a
single shot and them seven. In a sign of reprisal, again
burned the village. This time - in detail. With
flamethrowers. Inside. The overall atmosphere stood still.
As a pure abstraction. Even the dogs not barked. Iron in
his body calmed. The early winter twilight conceived
somewhere on the horizon. No beauty in it, no mystery:
just the thrill of the landscape that he overnight became

30
It is about the battle Croatia formation of Second World, known for
its brutality and ethnic intolerance.
repulsive. For the moment, the darkness plunge and
capture space with silence.
On the plateau, which is pushing, the rush of
uneasiness. They go away just because they went. When
they left, the enemy bombed the town and mine Obrovac.
Their troop, under heavy fire, pulled back of the sinkholes
where the lock this place. Part of the of the factory was
burning. On the morning of 5 February, when they went
into enemy territory, nurse Stanko, mobilized somewhere
in Backa, grenade took half of his head, so he lived for half
an hour not knowing anything, not even that it is dead. It
took as faster arrive in the background; through the open
space held by those we call the Ustasha enemies. The
command was simple and brief: find, surround, liquidate,
repress, blow up and withdraw. About other activities,
nothing said, about them known only to people. Silent and
cruel people. Others haven't told why he expressly ordered
to return just in Obrovac, when he was already in the
arrival was burning toward the morning sky.









Charpet
Nine

WALTER. ASJA. PETAR. ALEXANDRA

"The sting in the head" (7), and the same comments. 1993


"In the preface to Benjamin's " Essay " mentioned
some Asja Lacis. How does the author of the introductory
article say, it is about the Bolshevik actress from Latvia, in
the person of a "particular artistic" about Walter Benjamin. I
assume intimate! Preliminary notes that Walter had
previously family conflict, that ended in divorce. Is it not,
perhaps, a sign that my partner, Petar, is in a similar
position? Because, in his letter Alexandra only mentioned
in passing, along with his sons, but from these few lines
can find out almost nothing about what are their marital
relations. Perhaps this lack of precise information means
that in his life in Andorra there is some Asja! This would
substantially change the situation in which I was. As co-
author of his autobiography, and to Alexandra. What is
free? I'm not! On Benjamin's conflict with his family, for
now, still no closer I don't know. Maybe it's Asja, or other
earlier connection.
Walter was a Jew. I imagine him as physically
feeble, extremely thin man with round glasses, simply
dressed, modest in treatment, facing life in it. Like Kafka. In
my version, he appeared the opposite type of man to
Davidovic. In this hotel, where he now lives, and Petar,
Benjamin was probably a legend present in everyday
stories intended for tourists. So Davidovic and met rumor
this exceptional intellectual and unhappy man. It made him
attractive to the extent that he tried to use it for your own
transformation into a major tragic figure. Identifying with
Benjamin, he has his own exile pulling on the halo of
martyrdom, which it objectively there is no. These lines,
however, do not fall into what Petar expected of me, but I
never promised that I would not pronounced and his
negative judgment about everything they provoke me to
this extraordinary work. It is, in so far sent prose passages,
showed a solid contributor but could not give the right to
put equate his and Benjamin's fate. Such pretensions to
him I cannot say nothing.
After leaving Germany, Walter Benjamin resides
mainly in France. It was some time in the Soviet Union,
with the mentioned friend Asja. Enough to disappoint in the
country was conducted practical application of Marxism.
He saw, however, that "where art is not a manifestation
free human spirit, no place not for him." Start of World War
II welcomed in France. In 1939. The collaborationist
French authorities arrested him; interned him for three
months as a citizen of an enemy country. Because
Benjamin was and German. Him who left his homeland
Germany because of the Nazis!
Germany in meanwhile attack French, and
Benjamin then runs in front of compatriots, in which, too,
was not well written. Trying to stay alive. Exceeds the
Franco-Spanish border (Davidovic says in Andorra!)
Moreover, is trying to gain asylum. In a frontier fortress,
Walter Benjamin expected that occurs miracle.
Disagreement sources cite with those of Petar's letter,
perhaps, not great. In fact, according to the map of Europe,
Andorra is a part of the Iberian Peninsula and that French
touches. So it is possible that Benjamin and was actually in
Andorra, which acknowledges the Spanish but the French
government.
Davidovic, who, I suppose, no one is serious and
not prosecute in the same Andorra found asylum. Not true,
but conceited. In the former frontier fort, says Zoran
Constantine in his preface to the selected essays,
government, formally Andorra but also very dependent by
Franco and Petain Spaniards and Frenchmen,
communicated to disappoint, tired and shaken Benjamin
that he will hand over Gestapo! Wan, of running probably
physically thinner writer came to the wall. So caught up
with the Nazis, against which were his intellect, Jewish
origin and ethics of enlightened Europeans. It worked it is
at the border of existence. However, no one was able to
take away the right to personally decide its ultimate fate. In
the last hours a freedom, in this frontier settlement, looking
at today's map of the region, this could be the place Pas de
la Casa, somewhere at the beginning of 1940 the German
theorist Walter Benjamin, their own free will, though forced,
decided to put into practice the view that freedom is an
inalienable manifestation of the human spirit. In a gloomy
room, probably some obscure pub inventory she drinks the
poison. The fact that it chose to poison, not to hang
himself, saying that the writer had already decided to live
do not surrender to the Germans, actually Nazis.
Zoran Constantine notes, as in the case of Walter
Benjamin, it seems, in terms of psycho-metaphysical rule
that man's destiny causally related to his character. Freer
interpretation of this paragraph, conclude that this German
writer destined to commit suicide, respectively to be on the
opposite side of the prevailing sociopolitical processes in
their own country.
If you can believe Petar Davidovic, who was
physically different from Benjamin, and very confident in
interpreting the fate of the man with whom immodestly
identified, I hope that I will, in due course, to find out and
he committed suicide by drinking poison.
If the fate of Petar Davidovic, master the Russian
language, a good connoisseur of Italian and Mediterranean
cuisine, probably small participants in the Serbian civil
rebellion in 1993, man married to a woman who hides a
well eroticism, the father of two boys quite a talented
writer, turncoats and conservative, so if this fate in tune
with his character, then to him the end however, be
different from Benjamin's. So, you tragic but not
problematic. How will it make Petar, who always manages
any calculations? With the intention of to hoax life. "
Miroslav Vladimir enrolled in the novel, living in the
years to many compatriots do not manage to call back.
While undeclared war is still going on. As an illusion, reality
and art in its infancy. In the epoch in which we do the same
"time flees through their own gate time." To say that
Blueberry. Lieutenant,
31
character from the famous strip. In
fact, Vladimir colleague, journalist, whose career is like a
seesaw.

31
It is likely that young man, a friend of Vladimir, in boyhood much
loved comic comic book with adventures of Mike Blueberry on his
travels through the American Old West, because is themselves for
many years, an intimate circle, imagined as a living representative of
the drawn characters.
Charpet
Ten


INVITATION FROM FRANCE

"The sting in the head" (10). Call for a visit to France.
Beckerek. Boulevard. In 1993 year.



My friend from France Branko Jovanovic wrote to
me, a week ago. In 1968, we have been a common touch
student rebellion. Then, almost equally. Jovanovic writes
me that to him is some time ago, contacted our mutual
friend from college Petar Davidovic. Petar's letter is very
confusing, as if with him something was wrong - says
Branko. Ultimately, the letter is full of a lot of ambiguous
text, since there is no real purpose for this address after
several years without any mutual communication. Invited
me to visit him in Cannes. Unexpected and surprising.
Although Yugoslavia was very unpopular in Europe,
isolated and sanctioned, he is certain that we through his
acquaintances can arrange a visa. Without regardless of
the measures imposed by the United Nations against us!
His connection from the French embassy well played and
functions. He would like to see, Branko tells me, and his
wife Jadranka would like to meet me. He told her about our
association during the last visit to Belgrade, about visit
iconic locations our way back in and manipulated the
rebellion. I owe you a rematch, says Jovanovic for good
days spent in Belgrade. Branko ends the letter saying: "I
believe that you ten days here on the Cote d'Azur, could
use as I hear, that with you in Serbia is not just great.
And here indeed was not great. The war in Croatia
bogged down. In Bosnia, is getting wider. The garrisons
were in the occupation. Everyday conflicts, bombing.
Mobilization wild night after night. Everyday life is quickly
complicated. There is nothing. Banknotes replaced
monthly. Those who know the history of Europe, saying
that inflation is like that in Germany in the thirties years.
Our banks have resorted to adding a zero to the
banknotes, so the pound of bacon cost several billion!
Surprisingly, apart from the gloomy atmosphere, people
seem to live a normal life. No one demonstrates due to
poverty after allegedly homeland is in danger. Judging by
the television program, in the state is almost fine. Only in
lines for bread one of these months could see the real
situation: a several-hour wait before the bakery quite
accurately showed the mood of the masses. Anger,
dejection, fear. However, no sign of readiness for rebellion
or any civil rescue his or her own lives! Everyone resents
for themselves, and avoiding engaging in an organized
protest.
Every day we get up, go to work whom does not, as
we eat, daily newspaper regularly published - in them is all
made-up. Are maintained sports competitions, organized
even some festivals, television every day produces political
fog and smoke. We're talking in vain and barely listen to
each others. The children are almost born normally. It
takes persistent simulation of normal life. While all this is
just daily survival. World of zombies in a cage hypnotist.
My Jovanovic, you do not know how right you are. I
really need somewhere to dive out and breathe. To
breathe. However, what about after those ten-day trip to a
normal life? How to get back in this reality, which is on the
brink of despair. How can I leave my family in a country
where nothing should stop because it never then would
continue? Davidovic contacted with Branko! This
knowledge finds me. Leads to new dilemmas. That
covered the word itself given that with these soulless men
I'm not going to contact. Even when I passed over the
unpleasant facts remains an important issue - what he has
to correspond with others when with me entered into the
business of life, more precisely in the business of life after
death. Jovanovic was quite inarticulate about the nature of
their contact. Apart from stating that the letter was
confusing it is unclear whether the two men, perhaps, in a
longer conversation? If not for the unfortunate Petar,
incidentally, Branko Jovanovic announced our agreement.
It would not be far from his side. If he Davidovic wrote
something about our agreement to develop novel, I'll
definitely be tempted to interrupt your work. Our literary
project must remain confidential until the completion.
Davidovic is heartless and ruthless. And why Jovanovic
just now called me to visit him? After receiving the
shipment Davidovic? Perhaps it wrote Petar something
what to me should not have?
When a few days passed, I realized that hopelessly
interfere with clich from bad crime novels. At the time of
receiving of Jovanovic invites went on, the idea of actually
going to Cannes is becoming more and more attractive to
me. Anger and resentment at Davidovic, because
selfishness towards their own family slowly crossed in
disdain because I'm all the persons around him, except for
Alexandra, began to see as pure fiction. I thought: there
will be a break and switch off from the Yugoslav stuffiness.
Looking at the map of Europe, I have concluded that
Cannes is not even that far from the famous Andorra, so
one could think ... Finally, when I get there, I'll probably
chance to read it Petar's letter to Branko. To solve the
dilemma that I stumble across. Not off to find out
something about my ex girlfriend Alexandra. Maybe it
Davidovic to them wrote about her. In France opens
interesting questions and possibilities. Need to only send
Branko affirmative answer to borrow for a few hundred
German marks required for road and It's not the easiest,
explain Sofia why I find the travel abroad is important. Of
course, at the same time concealing from her the real
reason. Which even to me are the clearest? Is about my
repressed wish for adventurous. Alternatively,
undiminished challenge everything what Alexandra
represents. "





Charpet
Eleven



ON THE TRAIL DAVIDOVIC`S
INCORRECT INFORMATION

Miroslav Vladimir, intending with a new novel to rein
existential neurosis and correct first novel, "The sting in the
head," writes prose geography: Cerbere. France. Local
train. Port Bou. Spain. 2001.


The novel "The sting in the head," Vladimir Miroslav,
who was actually released under the name Vladimir
Petrovic, the book, otherwise did not receive any award,
although a lot read peer-reviewed. Even this writer was,
due credibility themes, from just ended wars in the former
Yugoslavia, quite politely question of people close to the
government. It was sometime in 1999 in the fall. They
asked him about the origin of information about abuses
during recruitment. It seems that the answer satisfied
investigative bodies. However, this novel as specific the
author's circumstances has number of material errors. That
does not disturb the structure but are unnecessary.
However, the wrong data in place and circumstances of
death of Walter Benjamin, It can say of one of the most
important protagonists of the novel "The sting in the head,"
comes from Davidovic, Miroslav they had, not without
creative satisfaction to correct. Especially as authentic
facts were dramatic.
Therefore, journalists business, in mid 2000 year
Vladimir traveled to Barcelona. It was an ideal opportunity
to test the parts of the biography of Benjamin, described in
the earlier novel. For what Vladan Petrovic an alibi has: he
got his from a former friend. What it does not quite justify:
he could it before checkout! In his diary, Miroslav those
days wrote: "... Because I have to correct all those errors
that I got tangled up believing Petar Davidovic. This is me
still easier to do than to deal with the their own fallacies,
illusions and failures ... " When you train, local, at a speed
of only 40 km crawl through a tunnel leading through the
Pyrenean massif, leaving Cerbere, the morning was fresh
and the sky so blue as if Matisse painted during the night.
Through the second, parallel, tunnel, at the same time,
howled the international traffic from Spain and Portugal.
"I'm starting in expeditions in the past. That
experiences the real place of Benjamin Golgotha. Because
he is, no matter how pretentious it sounds, among other
and the hero of my book. I was dramatic, important and to
myself look like a travelogue hero. Like an anthropologist
and historian. Almost offended that no one, even if the
conductor does not share with me nervous coming to the
place where the human history of Europe in recent times
has lost its elite members. "
Davidovic claimed that this German Jew, committed
suicide in Andorra, in the Pyrenees declarative statelet.
However, Vladimir traveled to the Spanish town of Port
Bou, the trail real history of the writer's end. Which has
since found valid data. Therefore, it is not a rustic hotel in
La Vella, where only Petar lived, and from which he sent
letters full of deception and illusion, but the coastal town of
Spain. Certainly full sun. Moreover, when you say the word
sun, I become aware of how much more cruel tragedy in a
sunny day. As in Albert Camus! When I think of Andorra,
am thinking neither that nor this territory, perhaps, not look
as Davidovic represents. Because he is prone sorts of lies!
The train is stuck in the tunnel, after ten minutes
there was a modern train station Port Bou. All in metal,
glass, resembling a huge hangar. An amazingly act fact
that was built for the World Exhibition in Barcelona, even in
1929. "I write and I feel as if the writing too much
geography and history. Nevertheless, the moment was
extraordinary. Humble writer has a great history! Physically
enters into it! We go down this road, though I do not
believe that Benjamin and in 1940 ranged along the
courses of under the control of officers and soldiers of the
Franco government. Because he was fleeing from the
Nazis, with whom the Spaniards official collaborated. Was
it a group? Alone, of course. Alone by itself. Marked as a
victim. "
From the valley, where the defiant housed railway
infrastructure, down into the bay, deep and safe, which
was named by fishermen, that with a network of
centuries-catch fish on this coast of the Mediterranean.
Along the bay, which looks unreal, placed the old town, the
harbor, some cultural and historical monuments, most
notably the Church of St. Anne, built in neo-gothic style. At
whose close the cemetery. Where Benjamin buried. Just
a little building is from the past. Dominated by new
restaurants, annexes, apartments, and incredibly long, the
wind protected beach. Which is adjacent to the greenish
water of the bay? And they may be only sea and sky the
same as in September and in 1940. I'm coming to town
and I wonder from where the fugitives are marching into
this place. The fugitives who are Judaism
as fate, communism almost a curse and artistic soul enter
the yellow star on his lapel. With them, he from France
attempted to cross the border. Probably in the middle of
the night?
In Port Bou, I primarily came to a more direct
experience the place where my literary obsession, essayist
and philosopher, Walter Benjamin ended his life. The hotel,
named "France", in which the act of death occurred, no
more. The remaining details recorded, more or less
prosaic. Therefore, now non-existent in the hotel, say once
a very inexpensive, in anticipation of the morning and
Gestapo agents, because he was one, whether it was the
hotel owner, released, Benjamin drank an unknown
quantity of pills morphine. His part from 50 tablets that is, a
few weeks earlier, he shared with his friend, the writer
Arthur Koestler.
Thanks to the priest, who was in the death register wrote
that Benjamin died of a stroke, and thus failed the fact that
Walter was Jewish origin, significant writer is buried in the
cemetery in Port Bou. Thus, at first avoided burial in a
common grave anonymous. Suicide only later disclosed.
In close near the village cemetery, visual artist, Dani
Karavan, raised an impressive memorial complex called
PASS. The exit / passage that Benjamin for life is not able
to find. Passage to Freedom. Central to this monumental
occupies tunnel through the rocks Pyrenees, who is output
at the open sea, to Africa, where Walter Benjamin never
arrived? Because of this random city he never and
nowhere is gone. Incredible Black paints the walls,
enclosing the very end of the tunnel, in contrast to the
azure sea and green environment, causing an impression
of existential dread. Even worthy of Dali's surrealism. Black
and green! Vladimir thoughts inside while walking along
the landscape that echoes history:
"It seems to me that the monument unreal although
very powerful metaphor. While standing, however, the
modest mark of the old cemetery, as if I'm closer to Walter
Benjamin. I experience it more directly than in the
architectonics of the monument. Because right here, to tell
the truth, and while walking by the front which are omitted
camouflaged hotel "France" the scaffold of my heroes, I
feel very chill. And the question that may have been
melodramatic: whether Asja Lacis has ever been in this
town? Because she lived until 1979. I wonder that I have
not gone to the grave of his son, who died as Davidovic. In
Knin. The strange situation due writers - their life snitches
literature - my answer himself. Then, on the coast of the
Costa Brava. Hardly comforted and irresponsible. All in
some kind of a little false, sentimental atmosphere. Ready
to drink "Calvados" and melodrama. Moreover, Asja that
flying through space with the Bolshevik unreal
seductiveness! "
Then I take it philosophically, as if something
expected of Benjamins work. However, today, and me it is
still actual, incredibly fit in our current postmodern life. The
town of Port Bou, with all due respect for the shadow of the
great philosopher, whether with enough historical remorse
for bygone sins, lived an intense tourist life of the popular
Costa Brava. The trains go by. Europe united travel....
I'm going somewhere in the depth of the coast. I
satisfy curiosity, but I left a shadow of anxiety: is evil to
sufficiently safe place. Still want to know who betrayed
Benjamin and whether Asja ... Another "Calvados". The
pathos that is difficult to avoid! I myself looked
melodramatic. Like I am some kind of hero of German
writers Remarkue. However, I admit that I was at that
moment that feeling felt good.



Carpet
Twelve


SOFIA ONLY IN REMEMBRANCE

"The sting in the head" (7). An authentic audio recording of
Vladimir's voice recorder "Phillips", on the tape recorded by
the Sofia. In 1992. Beckerek.

"I look at it this match to writhe, hiding, pretending.
He cares about to conceal from me the package he
received from a classmate Petar. My Vladan, who was
able to solve much more complex situations at work and in
the city, and was involved in politics, I do not know how
easy that says to me the thing is such and such, I'd like to
try to solve it. And am quiet and calm him. I come home, I
see Vladan nothing is mentioned. I found it suspicious.
When is tomorrow went to work, I search the small
apartment and quickly find the letter. I hid it behind the
books in a closet. I read the first script. I immediately see
why hide it: it his Alexander married to Davidovic Vladan
must never marry so that the mentioned before me. I'm not
jealous of her, much time has passed, and it is now far and
probably not more so flammable. Of course, I her even
now really do not like too much, because is this my
Miroslav almost ten years of suffering for her. She
bewitched him in bed in it seems to be powerful. Every
time when we Vladan and I made love, I was thinking
about how he really thinks of her. That she instead of me
in bed! As soon as I think of it, I'm sick of sex. And I
became cold. Alexandra cured me of making love. She
was fatal for me. And now, after so many years, she
appears again on the horizon. That we do not need at all,
not even in the letter. I got that just rage when the letter
arrived. But I slowly calmed down. The letter and the
papers with the letter I still continued to read out. Just out
of curiosity, and another. Interestingly, although silly!
Leafing through the typed pages and conclude that the
Petar and I know. He flirted with many girls, was full of
money, and we, students, and are scarce, so it was quite
popular. To me is not courting, I was not his type, probably.
But he was kind enough to me. Aleksandra at that time the
name was Andrejevic, for some time Vladan's girlfriend, my
current husband. All are made in the tits. A slender, lively
but with big boobs! It probably impressed him. I am a
student teacher of philosophy but I was not able to finish
college.
Is not Faculty for everyone! Petar, this out of this
letter, he was a good student. Nerd. All he knew by heart.
His father or maybe uncle sent to him a lot of money, I do
not remember exactly. They had some vineyards in
Grocka. After some time, the Alexandra disappeared from
neither Belgrade nor Petar I saw. And here he now writes
from and Andorra. Again he rushed to my Vladan. First he
stole the intended wife, for which I am extremely grateful to
him, and now wants to help that, that I ask, would never
have got! That story from a letter to me, less than one
seems too distraught. When I immerse myself a little in
what is that Petar had broken, everything is kind of hastily:
Would like to commit suicide and Vladan need something
to write such a story, and that his family will reportedly be
saved!? And Alexandra, of course. To be clear, I do not
hate her too much to let her life be in danger. Especially
not their children. Therefore, let Vladan do what he asks
this, although I am convinced that this is usually a waste of
time. The Davidovic will not kill himself, I know him, and
hes a great bluffer. Must be a gambler! And second, how a
normal can from the muddle-headed text to make
something that others will read, and therefore has mercy
the family of Petar? Let Vladan wrote that book for
Davidovic, just not to get attached again with Aleksandra.
To me it matters most. I'll pretend I do not know anything
about it, and see what will come out.
Before a night I issued in almost delirious to know
about the letter. I started to like ranting about it, and woke
up, and Vladan doesn't understand anything or are just so
real. He does not ask anything further and I can make it as
if nothing happened. I'm waiting for him to need my help!
Now I actually was not up to it. I'm worried about my
brother. Mobilized and sent him somewhere in Slavonia
32
.
It is located near Lipik
33
. Not occur for a month now and
there's bad. Sometimes, God forbid, I think how he is no

32
This is a region in today's Croatia very flat and suitable for
agriculture.
33
Town in Croatia in which there were many sacrifices in the Civil War
in 1991 - in 1995.
longer alive. Local Serbs withdrew, says one of his friends
who ran away, and the others come to defend them
against the Croats, who also escaped somewhere. Shots
fired from all sides. They say they do not have enough
food and their officers, mobilized from the reserves are
inadequate. And my Bata stubborn will not be then
removed from the position if not ordered, so it's. Just let
God help him to remain intact. Vladan tried through an
acquaintance, Colonel Aleksic, to find out something about
the Slobodan we call Bata, but it seems that even the
military does not have enough information about what is
happening there. This war is not like me at all no matter
what I Serb woman. Everything is something going on at
night, as well as leads those to military exercises and little
by little brings back a young man in a metal box.
We are listening to loud music, play football games,
and there is our current and former countrymen
slaughtered. And dying. It is a great shame for the country.
Just to Bata returned safe and sound. For me wrong you
are here just fighting over the television and pretend as if
with that over, in Croatia and Bosnia, have nothing to do.
Whence then our soldiers over there? Vladan is also
frustrating for all in Croatia and Bosnia. Color, but
sometimes I do make that he might have to go to sign up
as a volunteer. I think it's not for heroism, but he does not
transfer to sit in the lee while Serbhood bleeding. And now
it's just us missing this unfortunate Davidovic and his
fantasies. About the Benjamin, who is mentioned, I did not
hear anything so far. And he has a secret women's over!
His book, Vladan recently read on the bus. While going to
Novi Sad. He goes to work every day. Come late
afternoon. Or evening. And I hang out with Violet and
Gabriel. With them, I used to go to the whistle blowing
against Slobo. It was better than! "
After reading this Sophie's honest monologue, he
decided to include it in a novel. He does this at a time
when even signed himself as Petrovic and now, when is
Vladimir Miroslav, he finally introduces Sofia. As a
coworker.




Charpet
Thirteen

DAVIDOVIC SECOND SHIPMENT

To be reconvened conclusion of a new novel about war and
insincere friends. Year 2001. Beckerek. Is continuing the
story of A sting in the head" Andorra la Vella. In 1995.

Petar Davidovic writes again to Vladimir Petrovic as
a supplement and comment on the novel "The sting in the
head". Reads it Miroslav Vladimir, whilst he concludes a
new work, knowing that so will new prose deepened with
the plot and credibility. Rereading it flows without real
enthusiasm but and nervousness. Time interval was past
events took away a dramatic but added tragedy. Vladimir,
however, this delayed text read with suspicion up to now,
assured as Davidovic manipulator
"Smart you have done what not tried that to me
write or contracting with me in any other way. Such a
decision you certainly have alone to bring "- writing at the
beginning of the second Davidovic letters which arrived
just at the moment when I was about to confirm Jovanovic
coming! I do not know how much you text done, but be
persistent as I am sure that you and I are a good tandem. I
hope that you my excerpts and notes used in the creation
of a work of which we can agree. Of course, following new
contributions. I have enough of them, but without you a
manuscript I would not be able to write and print in our
country. The reasons are political and creative nature, but
it is not my only motivation to contact you. Quite simply,
this has to write someone else. This requires the nature of
the project.
Almost a year has passed since my first letter. I,
meanwhile, have died my elder son Pavle; I still feel
terrible. We have not been able to save with our writing.
A landmine killed him while his company withdrew through
the territory of Lika Kaldrma.
34
He died without coming to
consciousness. All this war flows in significant senseless
deaths. Pavle has been just one of many such absurd
death. Of course, for me it is not nonsense, but a tragedy
of which I will never recover. Fortunately, premature story
of his warfare found in my first shipment, and you are sure
that description already integrated in the testamentary
book. In this way, my Pavle, still alive, albeit only in our
novel, rescued from oblivion and disgrace. You may not
get the essence of what I am saying now, but for his
rescue from oblivion the act is not decisive printing
manuscripts.
Consequently inclusion of Pavle's personality in our
project, during his life, he is destined for a future
resurrection. Pavle buried in Knin 23 February. It was very
cold and windy. As do you suppose, I was present in this
sickening act. With foreign passport and changed

34
Village in Lika, separate territory in Croatia. Until the Civil War,
populated almost exclusively by Serbs.
appearance. Who knows how much risk, even for me,
formally, not issued any warrants. For each case, on the
advice of my Andorra friend Miguel for whom, otherwise,
doing some work on the border with Spain, in our country, I
have come to the documents some Milos Pandurovi. This
person usually killed several months ago in a car accident
in Barcelona. Miguel has provided me the car in which I
came to Pcs from Hungary. There I crossed the border.
Later everything was easier: I knew the language and my
currency enabled rapid progress through the battlefield. In
Knin, however, everything was terrible. I was standing by
Miroslav while Pavle buried. I did not dare to cry aloud that
I would not have betrayed. The suitcase closed because
mines drastically mutilated my older son. One young
soldier, tall and very thin, and incredibly clean to
circumstances, made a speech, full of unexpected
restraint. Not easy on exaggerated emotional expressions,
It even more denounces this war than the enemy! By the
reactions of some fighters, Pavle comrades from his unit,
should curse and revile the Ustasha and their families.
Pavle would, however, definitely like the calmness with
which the man spoke. When we are Miroslav and I was
alone, I'm completely broke. I was shaking as if I have a
seizure. Weeping was like a roar, it seemed like my nerves
are torn and my head alternately filled and emptied molten
lead.
Finally, I was in a crazy trance fell on the floor and
hotel rooms, and who knows in order to complete the rest
of my son, he found a military doctor who gave me an
injection to calm. Then I fell asleep only to wake up after
ten hours. Therefore, I lost my son. And that is just the one
who long rumored that it is not mine. Apparently he was
Alexandra conceived with another man. To you I can say
that even I some time thought that such a thing is not
impossible. However, severe pain after his funeral, I
assured that the wicked were right: only for his own blood
so responsive! Alexandra did not immediately learn that
Pavle died. I reported to her later. And thus she would not
be able to come to a final farewell to her son.
My wife and I, otherwise, we have not last few years
in the best of terms. One might even say that we are
somehow separate. However, I would not this time that you
are taking away time with our family relationships, as this is
an area of my life that you probably not interested you too
much. We've got more important things on which should
agree.
Probably you want to know how I live in Andorra?
First things first. Here I was quite good, but dangerous. I
have a guilty conscience for the escape from the country. I
work for a mister Miguel. He is a merchant. Sale of used
cars. I'm with him Procurement Manager. This you
probably sound pompous and funny, because you know
that I have never dealt with similar jobs. In the border town
of Pas dela Caza,
Behind the border with France, the formal
boundaries but enough to get behind it there is another
country, where they can enter into legally binding trade
agreements. I have an office in which people come who
want to quickly and effectively to my boss to sell cars. I do
not know whether you know that I'm talking solid Italian
and French, and I learned Spanish, which is on the border
is extremely important. As a result, I can finish very quickly
the formalities with representatives from all three countries.
Spain, France and Andorra. With me works an
experienced mechanic that assesses the value of the car,
which arrive daily.
I'm worried, though, that I feel betrayed his current
family. It, however, and there is no longer a unit. Do not
help them financially because my wife Aleksandra has
twice refused to receive a money order that I sent her.
Therefore, with the money I cannot prevent or alleviate
family breakdown. For something different, I have neither
the strength nor the courage. It remains only for me only
what you and I are doing. We write defense. I learned, in
the meantime, that there are certain discrepancies
between the data of Benjamin's life, with which I have, and
the official version. However, I do not care. I draw your
attention that there is still one of his books in which there
are fewer communists and Marxists and more a common
person. This book has suggested one of our men from
Sarajevo. Some mister Prica. According to his story in the
book is the word of a Russian actress of Moscow, in which
Benjamin was in love. She called Aska, or so somehow.
Here I'm not able to get the book, "A trip to Moscow," but
you certainly read, it may be able to serve us in business. "
At that place Petrovic, delay Davidovic letter. This
time he allowed himself emotions. It is a strange man.
Crank and irresponsible but still vulnerable. Although most
self-centered, and vanity. He writes about Aleksandra
Andrejevic, for she knows that she was his girlfriend and
love, with whom Petrovi was supposed to get married
immediately after the end of the study, as a person that
Vladan knows only by reputation. When is able to of such a
thing, of that the man can expect anything - It determines
Vladan Petrovic. Ready, however, to continue collaborative
writing. In the coming days began, however, more and
more him surprising speed with which Davidovic with the
death of his son, Benjamin switched to their novel!

















Charpet
Fourteen


VLADIMIR `S FRIEND LIEUTENANT
BLUEBERRY AND THRILLER WITH
DAVIDOVIC

Simulated crime story as a literary and psychological
balance: Novi Sad. Barcelona. Monastery of Montserrat.
Everything happens in May 2002.


Obsession with the topic Davidovi alleged blatant
interference in his activities, in everything that Vladimir
deals at the end of writing the novel "The sting in the head"
from day to day, has become very dominant. Almost
regardless of the actual merits of this obsession. Miroslav
Vladimir so, during one visit to the restaurant at the
Petrovaradin Fortress, regretted his acquaintance, who
was named lieutenant Blueberry, otherwise it is about a
young journalist from Novi Sad, as it concerned Davidovic,
or Balduci, how that his false friend called in Italy, gives
him all sorts of trouble. Creative, moral, psychological.
From of that Petrovaradin `s vigil, in which not gone too far
with alcohol, there was more verbal exhibition, it's been a
few months. One evening, it was almost midnight when
"Lieutenant Blueberry" spoke by telephone. With a
proposal to Miroslav consider that in his new novel, which
report is already written, include and the thriller in which
the Balducci, who knows and the Bluberi as Davidovic be a
negative character. This will help to you, enthusiastically
suggested Bluberi, in the same way as he is yours, only
funnier and the more effective, literary means defeat.
Without delving into the personal and family integrity, what
he to you however still works. After a short persuasion and
persuasion, especially after Blueberry's promise that he will
recruit on collection of data and the articles about Balducci,
of course, to write this feuilleton, Miroslav Vladimir has
agreed to once again embark on an adventure writing a
story within a story.
In fact, the first novel, "The sting in the head," which
was written under the name Vladan Petrovic, from the
beginning written as a commissioned work for that of his
university mate Petar Davidovic, never ends definitively.
Although the book published long ago, the events,
characters and themes of its contents can passed away.
Partly it is the fault of the writer, as he later signs as by
Miroslav Vladimir, continued to write about the events after
the end of the civil war in the former Yugoslavia, to
continue to think and investigate the fate of Walter
Benjamin, and embarked on a new novel, "Walter
Benjamin in intercity bus." It is perfectly legitimate and
common in novelists, however, proved very risky in the
case - one of the heroes was fictitious but very real. It
turned out and dissatisfied with the job that done for him
Vladan Petrovic. He began to interfere with the author in
real life. That threatened and slandered. And all of Italy, in
which he escaped from Andorra. He became Oscar
Balducci and began to deal with crime and fraud.
Blueberry proposal is Vladimir seemed almost
relaxing, almost like a sweet intellectual joke, which will
distract him from the dark thoughts and fears. Secretly
admiring Blueberry adventurous spirit, indulged in no
predictable future events. Davidovic has entered a new
novel without finishing their role in the first book, much less
of the author's real life.
This time, he embarked on an experiment more
complicated because now the two authors write a book
using real, partly imaginary life of a third person, as a lever
will have to Davidovic alias Balducci, brought to mind. Of
course, in the presence of Walter Benjamin. Who was,
after all, just Davidovic, directly introduced in Vladimir's
writing. Maybe even aware of the philosophical inevitability
wall to which the fascists forced this thinker. For Davidovic
was not without talent for predicting the metaphysical
horror. Colleague Blueberry was swift and than words. It
appeared to be a long time getting ready for this or a
similar undertaking. A literary adventure. The texts of
Davidovic (Balducci) criminal actions began to arrive:
"And those who from earlier they know, the
extraordinary morning gathering on Sunday 5th May,
however, seemed in the least surprising. If they had been,
for whatever reason, carefully monitored, could conclude
phony relaxed, a little bit nervous and signs of anticipation.
Former Davidovic, who on this occasion but his last name
Balducci, not only whose identity is changing. Mr. Oliba
arrived with "Peugeot" in maroon color. With the driver,
and another companion, which is closely watched
environment? The driver was a middle-aged, medium
height, even darker than your bosses were. It can say with
Moorish roots. Balducci arrived by train from Barcelona, by
drinking a cappuccino in the dining car. He was in a bright
silk suit, a bit premature for the morning in the mountains.
Blanche is still early in the morning, its quite unsightly
Volkswagen, diesel engine, arrived from La Vella, and
arrived by funicular the Basilica. Following one of my
apparently ancient habits, even at dawn drank a Grappa, in
the cafeteria, which housed in the hill, right near the exit of
the cable car. He was wearing a leather aviator jacket cut.
Gray with fur collar in dark blue color. Otherwise, until
eleven o'clock that day, the mountain addle on which has
emerged monastery was in a fog. Tourists, just at that time
just beginning to invade. One of the most attractive spots
of Europe, where they intersect the epoch, with an
explosion of natural beauty, spirituality and mysticism is
the monastery of Montserrat.
However, this will be the subject of another novel, if
be it. Alternatively, perhaps, some police chronicle of real
life.


Charpet
Fifteen

A VISIT WITH JOVANOVIC FAMILY

Trips full of contradictions. Cannes. Grimaldi Street No. 213
France. In 1993. "The sting in the head" (12).


Branko was with his wife and two daughters lived in
the fashionable street Grimaldi, located on a hill above the
port of Cannes. When we came to the airport, getting into a
spacious apartment, and my friend from college, who I was
met at the airport in Nice, meaningful and confidentially
told me: "He appeared to me again Davidovic. He sent
some written text for you. "At that moment his wife came to
the door, and the story of Petar at the moment interrupted.
The early evening dim light is outspread on the street in
Cannes. From the windows of the rooms that to me assign
Jovanovic, I watched the passers-by who mostly taken to
walk their dogs. Everything was calm and almost smug.
People, dogs, sky, trees neatly trimmed. All measured.
Only the sky was an unusual depth.
I was nervous in anticipation of dinner, since I
assumed that Branko then continue with the news of
Davidovic. About eight o'clock, after a discreet knock at the
door, appeared Branko Jadranka with a proposal to go to
dinner in the restaurant Argentine "Gauchos". Of course, I
agreed even though I was surprised that on the first day
out on the town for a meal. Apparently I forgot that
Jovanovic for many years in France, and here is not the
habit of the guest in the house organize meals. We went to
a restaurant in which the service was used visitors
specialties from the pampas, mainly beef. All to the beat of
samba and tango. The waiters juggled through the
crowded hall, with plates. Strong music, spicy and
incredibly tasty food, plenty of drinks and my friendly hosts,
the night I conducted through another world. Far from the
gloom and despondency that saw me off from Bekerek,
the departure of Timisoara. Where the Yugoslavs did could
fly the airplane in the world. Because of our sanctions. I'm
dizzy in the head of the local good and exciting life.
Semblance of life really, because I knew that my real life is
elsewhere.
Early as this night, and several times the next day, I
tried to find out from Branko what it says in letter
Davidovic. He is to all my questioning avoided to answer
directly, saying that nothing important is at stake. Once,
while Jadranka was in the bathroom, at my insistence to
explain to me what this is about, he said that it cannot that
deliver the shipment until I am in their house. That is, that
the latter ordered that to me envelope give just before the
departure plane to Zurich! On the way back! I didn't
manage to get him to explain to me what is actually behind
this unusual condition because his wife Jadranka high,
almost skinny and youthful woman just appeared. She
happily cruised through the crowded and noisy dining hall,
charming carrying her advanced pregnancy. He mentioned
in passing, that Jadranka well tolerated this little delayed
pregnancy but it strictly forbidden to frustration. However, I
did not see a good reason why Branko hides from her
existence Davidovic mail. Unfortunately, such an
opportunity not indicated. Since the first night in France
was beautiful, enough that stops me in blunt insistence.
We went back to their apartment about three half past
midnight. The next day, it was Saturday; we were resting
from a night out, which us a lot burden with food and drink.
Branko and I watched on cable TV football game two
Italian clubs and Jadranka flipped some fashion journals.
Before dinner, we walked Croisette, which filled the aged
locals and tourists like that too. Branko told me that this
was different only during the film festival in May. This is my
Petrovic said somewhat pathetic - a nice, rich and largely
boring city. Branko is, in fact, throughout my stay in
Cannes was very friendly and talkative, and somewhat
restrained. Behaved differently though than when he was
visiting Belgrade. He introduced me to a concise history
and geography of this part of France. He just did not say
anything about Petar Davidovic! Indeed, devilish trying to
not remain long alone with me! From Monday until next
Saturday, I went to their apartment. Jovanovics worked
from nine to 17 .Were arriving home around 18 pm. After a
short rest and fine-tuning, we went to dinner, every day at
another restaurant. Alternated the Vietnamese, Italian,
German, Greek and French dishes, and my hosts did not
spare the money.
I spent the morning alone, walking Cannes streets,
in the viewing of the above resources, knowing that I will
never have the money that buy something significant in
these stores. I went to the harbor, climbed into the old
town. Watching television. I occasionally take into the
hands of Benjamin's "Moscow Diary". While I watched from
the window how in late afternoon enliven the street ended
in time, I as "Bel-Epoque" views, similar scenery, full. My
head has been more overfilled Yugoslav horrors and
unusual literary fabrication that with Davidovic create. My
temporary Cannes occupied by the other side of socialism
and communism faded. It came with me just fled from,
briefly, from the ruins of Yugoslav misery. At night, I was
drowning in Benjamin's Moscow fugues. Only if I, in those
days, azure surreal, thought of Aleksandra, and surprises
in here I managed that call her into consciousness only in
the days when we had the most intense love, this trendy
city would turn into a true Mediterranean. In deep blue
symphony. However, when I think of Sophia, I felt guilt and
discomfort.
It was only the third day Cannes tours, seemingly
without reason, and by the way, my friend and host Branko
Jovanovic, asked me to front Jadranka does not mention
Alexandra. It's not about female jealousy - he said - He will
tell me what it is soon as the opportunity arises.
Unfortunately, such an opportunity not indicated.





Charpet
Sixteen
ALEXANDRA, THE SECOND TIME IN
DREAMS

While Davidovic decomposes, Vladimir - dreams: Bekerek.
Boulevard. In 1998. "The sting in the head" (16).


Petar Davidovic, slowly but steadily, not in
chronological order but still systematically assemble
spaces their familial concentric circles. The material for the
cracks of his life good deal me used. It reinforces the
ground. At the same time toying with me. I can see now
that he was a man whose persistence must not be
underestimated. A person who is planning something
weird! But, I again dreamed of Alexandra:
"He hears some strong ringing. The day was
cloudless but all I see as through a cloud. Membrane.
Blurry and soft. Towards agent comes police agent
Draskovic, who had previously never seen, only a
telephone to communicate, but I am sure that the man who
finds just Draskovic policeman. Halfway he stops, giving
me hand signals to follow him. When I turned back, the sun
suddenly starts going down. I can feel the cold. Street in
which follow Draskovic is increasingly narrows. At the end
you can see a train station. Surrounding me is unknown,
but train station is the same according to which Alexandra
ran in the last dream. Nearby the station's raining. Only
there! All around is brightly. Draskovic turns to see
whether follow him. Has a mustache, cropped hair and
wearing a briefcase in his left hand. He has an umbrella,
while I was sopping. The clock on the portal railway station
shows five and fifteen. At one counter, on whom writes:
"The ticket booking for abroad," in moment I saw
Alexandra's face. Quickly ran up to, and as I started to call
her, within the small windows, instead, I saw an elderly
woman ridiculously contorted mouth.
Look back: no even Draskovic! I looked on station
square: just a dog, a bicyclist passing by, two or three
birds, and a tram to troll, which draws on the road. I go
through the corridor leading to the platform. I gotta run, but
with each step, this passage is narrowed. Soon it turned
into quite the line. However, I do not stop. I'm running
through the hall completely flattened, in which seemed to
be walls touch and go through me. Then, in the distance I
saw a light, which is fast approaching. In the next second
light condense into a brightly lit sign. I'm reading:
"Asja Lacis is in a sanatorium in Gogol Street. She
had a nervous breakdown. "
The inscription disappears quickly, and I hear the voice of
the Draskovic, who seems like that is reproduced from
some cheap tape:
"Petrovic, Alexandra Davidovic was ready to meet
with you. Go! She is currently in front of the hotel
"Moscow". Hurry!
I full strength starting to run towards the hotel.
Already I see it. Then I saw Alexandra, she is drive to
wheelchair. I shout to reach me. She saw me and waved
me desperately. However, some people in white coats,
forcibly throwing her into the gray van. I exert the
maximum in order to catch them, but the last thing I saw
before waking up, whether the person is one of the
orderlies. It was a photographer from my newspaper!
Not famous Matic, but a young man. I woke up from
stamping heart and a strong pain in the neck. By
Alexandra did not make it, but in the dream I stumbled on
the data from Benjamin's life that I did not know: Asja be
treated in a sanatorium! This detail is not crucial either for
me or for our story, but the question how I it recognized in
a dream, although in Valter book, "The Moscow diary," I
have not yet encountered this information? All dazed with
sleep, in which Alexandra is immovable and is in a
wheelchair, think about whether dreams hint or just
summarized the events? In the last dream she has
nurtured the unknown, that changing identity. This time
Alexandra was sick. I take Benjamin's "The Moscow daily"
flips through it, and soon come to confirm what I've read in
a dream: Asja really was in a sanatorium, only in my dream
street in which the hospital is located, was wrong.
Instead Gogol is located in Maxim Gorky! And
data about Asja illness, in Benjamin's book, is twenty
pages away from the place to which I had arrived in the
previous reading. This finding, or rather say - foreboding, in
a flash me horrible: it would mean that Alexandra is really
in a wheelchair. Or will be. calm down yourself with the
constatation that probably it comes sheer coincidence or
my excessive concentration of novelistic themes. Until the
next day, packing, going on an official journey to Kosovo,
in Pristina, I'm still occupied those clairvoyance from
dream. I mean, why do not I been able to foresee the
event, which is quite logical for one who follows the
strange life of this latvian. The midst such speculation
shame me to know that about her deceased son barely
think. But the fact that almost twenty-five years I did not
even know about it, and though he had never seen, not
even in the picture, created in me notion of him as a
person from the zone of unreality. I know I should be sad,
in my head I am, but in soul I have not been able to touch
him.
It harsh to say, that my Pavle's experience the same
as Walter, as a person that had existed at some time and
space, and moved into fiction. Benjamin I even knew
better. I know the person he loved, while of Pavle's spiritual
and emotional life I know nothing. I am aware that this all
sounds blasphemous, but it's hard to understand my
position without empathy in tangled story that overgrown
by more life and space. only thing I'm sure that the
existence of Pavle, my Pavle, and even more so his death,
true human reaction provoked only in the moment of the
meeting with Aleksandra. I am convinced that in this case
broke my mental composition. Because only with her all
the tragedy of artificially keep the basement of
consciousness would become real. She, Alexandra is the
only real proof of Pavle's existence outside of literature and
projecting through other people and fictional characters.
While let routine that me and him call for the return of
reality, ask myself: would Pavle still alive in the event that I,
Vladan Petrovic as Davidovic life. And he in my novel? I
still, if Benjamin somehow resurrected, revived by original?



Charpet
Seventeen

DIALOGUE WITH THE FACE OF THE
DARK

Obscure agent still bothering: Bekerek. Boulevard. The
police station, somewhere in the same city. Flat Vladan
Petrovic in 1996. "The sting in the head"

The phone rang in Bekerek in the flat Vladan
Petrovic. In sound these equipment, now, I recognized the
danger, and I knew call me that maniac or a spy. When I
reluctantly raised handset, cracks his annoying voice.
However, this time I've been more ready. Comrade
Petrovic, again I'm on the phone. And unfortunately, I have
thick reasons for it. Immediately interrupt him: vorovi
35
,
you forgot again on a good day. The basic rule is that
when some phone call, to first introduce yourself! How long
am I to educate you! When he responds immediately:
Listen to, Petrovic, do not teach me right. I answer to me 'I
will. And where did you get that vorovi when for fifty-
seven years my name is Draskovic. I then try a conciliatory
tone: Well Ilija, do not be mad, I'm a little confused. You

35
This character is an obvious modeled after its namesake,negative
character playwright Dusan Kovacevic, from the works of "Balkan
Spy".
look like one vorovi, which you know, and I was wrong.
However, to hear how are you today? However, he does
not give up. All furious speak again: you provoke me
papery. Nevertheless, leave it with the names and
surnames. I hear you got these days' even two letters from
abroad! You, God, nor do not waste your time; the country
was in the sanctions and you to correspond! Letters from
Europe. I still quiet answer - Mr. Draskovic, to my stuff! Spy
Strikes: Petrovic, I am not Ilija already Dusan, but we do
not talk about me. You are on the agenda! And they are
yours: Davidovic and Jovanovic. I have all three on the list,
even than in 1968. Your friends - emigrants.
It's nice your company, your god kisses you! One is
the rich man's son black and stock market son; another
father robbed their own state-owned company and took off
across the border. Now and Petrovic alias Vladimir upset:
Who are you and that you? Doesn't your terror end? I'm
tired of you who are peering into bedrooms, open letters;
listen in people's phone conversations, inventing enemies.
You are not ordinary vorovi but you vorovi to square!
This continues, even overwhelming: Calm down, sir. Who
says we are not human. You can see that none of what I
have incriminating of you, I have not given anyone. Tapes,
photocopies, I have that even some photos. My Petrovic,
do not run ahead of ourselves. Yet we cannot agree. I, on
the border of patience: Again threaten me. You're a sick
man. This evidence, which allegedly have, has nothing to
do with politics and the police. Draskovic and it has the
answer: But, they are with your wife, your editor, the
receptionist of the hotel "Metropol". Journalist fit but tired:
Well, Draskovic, you obviously decided to torture me. To
you not quite what to me read the letters and who knows
from when you and eavesdrop phone. You sneak behind
me, filming and dub ... Why so much effort.
Therefore, I am ordinary man, too small that the
state interest for me. Insignificant. And what more do you
want from me? With a touch of triumphalism, my spy
continues: Progress, Petrovic. I just need a little more. Tell
me about that is not in the letters or on the phone. We yet
last time deal. Petrovic currently feels better in the skin of
Vladimir But vorovi, Jovanovic and Davidovic are small
fish for you. One sells perfumes; others by for the boss
used cars. Jovanovic for our policy is not at all interested
and Davidovic is almost over, the question of the day when
will ... Then Draskovic, something muted: Do not bother
me with that vori, but I will ask who he is. Jovanovic me
less interested, he long ago escaped. However, that
Davidovic is something else. He hit a police officer 9.
March. And slipped away. Now you persuade to write him
about the situation in the country. There are bound to
criminals ... A journalist tried again calmer tone: Comrade
Draskovic, I told him not disclose secrets. We write the
novel together ... but you it's not worth explaining.
Draskovic, almost normal: Petrovic, you wanna tell
me one day that what you write, I'm not too stupid. I will
surprise you, trust me on that. However, to officer is true.
He smashed his head with a lath. I conciliatory though the
sting: Sorry, I almost said Elijah again, Duan sorry, I did
not think you were quite so stupid, only not like a
profession. However, it must that the police thrashed them.
You did not even silk ... Again, officially, agent-cop: What
you, what, was your name Petrovic? There is in some
letters of yours another man with a foreign name. Some
Bendjamin. I see, that's any of your code. As a man is not
alive and eternal things revolve around him. It's a good
trick. You cannot you fuck me easily. The writer, a bit of
class offended: Dusan, man, that Benjamin is a writer, a
German writer died a long time ago. You have to believe
me. This strikes I believe you privately, as but officially
Nah. When you solve that coperate, and we will discuss.
This is getting crazier. Come on; let me say something
about Jovanovic and Davidovic. A journalist, writer: But,
man, I'm telling you that Benjamin was dead long ago.
People, however, him and now read and respected, but as
a living being, he does not exist. To spell it! He buried long.
A police officer does not give up: Just patiently.
I've got it - you are Vladan, Vladan Petrovic. We will
first of the living, and then on dead, if they are dead.
Before the writer falls into hysteria: You're worse than the
real Ilija vorovi. This is ridiculous and why am I still
talking to you? Just because of lousy demand. You disgust
me. Draskovic, professionally: You are mistaken, my dear,
and do not be so squeamish. You have a better reason to
cooperate with us - we can help to find Alexandra!
Just at that moment, from the headphones, the
sounds - click, and then, drawn out sound of broken links.
Draskovic me a hard time and in the end throw bait a hook
with which I cannot resist - Alexandra! He took me in a
moral dilemma, because cooperation with him cannot pass
without a bitter taste, and more importantly - I do not have
his phone number. And who knows whether this is really, a
maniac named Dusan Draskovic? I have to wait to he
again occurs, to bugging me again, and then, if mercy, to
know something about Alexandra. Of course, how do I
know it's not the usual police bullshit? And yet what I think
about myself, when I was ready to cooperate with such a
man. To whom objective and have nothing to say. Other
than what they already know. Probably, they just need my
signature behind some there already made police traps.
This you will not get from me - brave himself Vladimir
Petrovic. To whom, even as Miroslav Vladimir, is not
pleasant when you remember that time, ten years ago,
when even and Walter Benjamin had been under
surveillance, probable of the same, Bekerek agent.
Where is that long-Communist era, the time of liberals
namely, when the investigative judge in Pazova or maybe
Rums or Indjija was nervous about him drunken-writers
break in the reading of the same Benjamin? While Novi
Sad young writers-drinkers thought that is freedom in
Belgrade greater.








Charpet
Eighteen

A MAN FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE
DANUBE, ON BOULEVARD
REVOLUTION

In the Serbian capital, oblivion and frailty career: Beckerek
Western Boulevard. Belgrade, Boulevard revolution. 2001.


Today is Friday. Evening. Early winter is, in the year
after the year two thousand. Again, the long-distance bus
in operation. The same one that every morning going to
work, until the afternoon back home. Gagic Goga, his
former secretary, has been recently converted to a
compartment not even know Miroslava. Because the more
he is not her boss. Even her ass was no longer smiling.
Now it is like the one by Isabelle Huppert, when she
returns window in the film whose name Miroslav cannot
remember. Sad female ass! Because the owner of a left.
Above the bus driver, now changed color, and even uglier
seat upholstery, with music that is slightly less insulting
flavor and eardrum still image of a man whom they seek.
States and the court in The Hague.
Miroslav Vladimir came back to his apartment,
which still exists as a fact in the middle of Western
Boulevard. He still thinks about Isabelle Huppert. As a
woman, by the lower left. While he stayed without mistress
and careers at the same time. In the evening the same
day, he turns the TV. He arrived at the house just in time
to watch the end some documentary cultural programs... In
which the author, in reminding on heroic times of post-war
theater of Belgrade's testify to the premier, high-risk, semi-
legally, tremendous, unbelievable performance of Beckett
play "Waiting for Godot". In cold blood, that does not say -
cynical forget to mention the name of the director these
premieres - Vasilije Popovic
36
, long ago inhabitants
Bekerek, which Miroslav few years ago remembered as a
friend. Now he looks next to him as a tall man with a beard
and a big straw hat. With him, he climbed to the fourth floor
Bekerek's Museum to premises where Popovic's family
once lived. The reputable pharmacy family settled from the
Mol. They stood Vasilije and Miroslav in their former living
room. Overlooking the town square. Vladimir last summer
made a report on Popovic's Becskerek years.
It's late, but Miroslav cannot sleep. It is simply
astonished and angry. Angered by the lack of culture
former associates and colleagues of the late writer and
director Basil Popovic. Their names omitted to see.
Because they written in announcing title. Television
Belgrade, where Popovic gave a lot, it's quite literally
erased from his memory. In loading the general memory
flawed data. Vladimir remembers how once, in hot day like

36
This is, in fact, right, baptized, name of one of the best Yugoslav and
Serbian novelist Pavle Ugrinov.
it was just taken out of Banat `s oven, walked past Vasilije,
the coast which once belonged to Bega river, and had
already become integrated into what looks like a bulky
bowl. They went to the Regatta, where young Vasilije the
rat bathed with their peers. As the sun wild, walking pace
and in a deep voice, former skilled reciters, Vasilije tells the
story of times gone by. The next meeting they had in 1998.
In the meantime, they exchanged letters. And recently he
says that person, formerly Basil Popovic. He read Petrovic
/ Vladimir novel "The sting in the head." In his apartment,
this guards against Boulevard revolution. Popovic is now
old. Respected. Bit of a loner. Even academician, who
however younger colleagues increasingly forgotten. And
with good reason - he's a much better writer than them.
Now, the director, writer, academic, named differently, I
think of Basil. What was the name at the time he directed
Beckett. As I am no longer Vladan Petrovic. After all of
Davidovic not ... but of him when He comes in red.
However, the firstly to hear Mr. Popovic: "The
characters are well written, they all give relief, some
strong, although I have a character (single) fit enough - a
figure that cop Draskovic, who, after all, reminiscent of
similar characters already described in our literature .
Female characters are also memorable, especially, of
course, Aleksandra who most excites curiosity, but
convincing is and Sofia, and in its own way unique, and
despite some disdain by her husband. It is the novel "The
sting in the head" I have sent him several months ago, and
that was in 1998. year by Belgrade publisher "City". By the
way, I heard from some time ago, over the phone, a man
who identified himself as a former employee of the State
Security did not say that, public or government, to ask
of whom I heard the fact that people in the military
department really took so many marks to favor the release
of mobilization ("In the meantime I have to help Sofia's
younger brother to return from Slavonia front.'ve found it in
Pakrac easily wounded.
Should be organized as soon as his back while
officials do not change their minds. Sofia cry every day. I
truly do everything in my power but the people in the
command are created fear of provocateurs, it is necessary
to collect and 3 000 German marks. "- As I wrote in" Sting
in the head "). The man says that the way he knows me,
even we in some way or acquaintances. My novel he likes
just, well, out of curiosity is asking for the data source, to
which his answer, that I have heard from many
acquaintances as part of a story about the survival of the
people in the war, which, thank God passed. He agrees,
that's all, thank God, is almost. He says, by the way, as
well as Sophia knows. He had the opportunity that to her,
almost formally, to talk.
My esteemed friend, alias Popovic, probably even
this restored character of the gray spheres, would not like
it. It really is commonplace. And just everywhere, again by
telephone. And behold, it happened. Here, apparently
many such covert wishers.
Mr. Basil continues: "Framework novel - leaving the tanks
in front of Vukovar and the endless lines of refugees, who
after five years located on the same highway, just turned in
the other direction talk but for itself, about the terrible
defeat of folly, arrogance and ruthlessness that after these
five years, showing his tragicomic face. "Basil was the only
one, as the head of state Slobodan M.
37
still ongoing as
potentate, as opposed to the Serbian reviewers and critics,
do not hesitate to write that my novel is about "a terrible
and unnecessary war". While other critics praised the
unusual structure of the invoice and work ...
In this letter, by Vladimir kept, next to an even
stranger documents related also to "Sting in the head,"
Basil P. continues: "I am very carefully and with a critical
interest read your novel. I must say: you made the novel
more than any expectations - good! I was attracted to the
story itself and the postmodern way you wrote it, and just
write it as such. This writing - which I always attaches
particular importance - very clean, safe and mild irony that
the whole style gives a certain superiority. The novel is
very mature, I think the fact stands out from the novels
younger / middle generation that I have the last two or
three years of reading, and I'd say it deserves special
attention and that this novel at all a place on the shortlist
for the award, because it is better than others, but the
award-winning, or to be specific: I think that is not inferior
to Albahari
38
, for example. As for the readers, the novel
may encounter serious difficulties for those who are not
accustomed to post-modern parallels and compositional
audacity, but should not be a big effort to get this little
novelty quickly overcome, while others will read with
interest the same as any other successful and interesting

37
The socialist president of Serbia, which is dictatorial ruling with its
state, while responsible for the breakup of Yugoslavia.
38
One of the most talented prose writers in Serbia those years. And
now known and respected author.
novel that is set aside, I repeat, a very safe way of writing
and artistic maturity of processing. You can be sure that
you have written a valuable and necessary novel and do
not doubt it at any time, no matter what anyone says, that
some objected, and the real problem is that this novel
comes to the attention of a spoiled and divided, after all
selfish critics and those same journalists cultural columns.
This is not easy, but you get this novel as one successful a
surprise, it may help to get involved in the field of vision
those that here measure and judge, accept or ignore. That
egotistical ignorance is the worst. They simply do not want
to take the time to something unknown give attention, even
if just to the unknown should be the subject of their
attention, and as such interesting for the audience. I mean,
at the end of this summary impressions, you should
continue to write fiction, because possess some properties
which are very valuable in the modern style of writing, as I
said, an expression of pure, clear thought and measured
irony. "
Sincerely yours Basil Popovic
In Belgrade, 9 November In 1998. year.

After this pleasant evocation of what it is, naive and vain
was telling a friend, academician, who posthumously
getting over, not just writers and critics, but television
makers, the dream remains the only option that Vladimir
could to swim until the next day. In which again will not be
allowed or able to swim the Danube. As Arsen Colak used
to say.

Charpet
Nineteen

VLADIMIR MIROSLAV IN CANNES
READING BENJAMIN'S DIARY
Yet lasts Vladan`s French interlude. Cannes. Apartment family
Jovanovic. Grimaldi Street. "The sting in the head." It is the year
in 1993.



Has not yet dawned. It has only been three. I'm
awake and nervous. On the table next to the bed are two
books. Turn on the bedside lamp. Benjamin and
Vinogradov? Randomly take one, "Moscow Diary". So,
Walter Benjamin. Vladan is still visiting with Jovanovic.
However, it feels more like on the run, though short-term,
from their own country, which is breaking. Benjamin helps
him because of his book, feel the breath life's refuge this
Germans, and who love, like, move away. "So, I took a
book at random, but instinctively. Vladan reads:
"12 December. In the morning, Reich went for a
walk with Asja. Then they come to me - I was still fully
dressed. Asja was sitting on the bed. I enjoyed a lot while
she was preparing and cleaning up my bags, and at the
same time, several ties, which she liked kept to himself.
Then she told how, when she was a child, devouring trashy
literature. For lunch, I went with Reich in a small restaurant
in the basement. This afternoon was painful. With Asja,
again, constant alternation of between intimacy and official
in speech. He was not feeling well. Later we were walking
along Tverskaya. While sitting in a cafe, between the Reich
and Asja there to an intense argument. "
I think, as a subtle Walter interjected in this
unspoken love triangle. Reich obsessed with politics and
career, Asja with acting, Bolshevism, his own illness and
two men. And Benjamin? In Moscow, watched live in
communism, powerless to Asja. Write a diary filled with
love trepidation and Marxist views of reality in Moscow.
This is not even close to utopia in which, at least now, he
believed. He's in love, she dominates, her disease
protection. And Reich? He imagines that controls the
situation. In Moscow took place romantic drama with an
uncertain outcome.
"15 December. After we got up, Reich was a
moment somewhere out and I thought I'd be able to say
hello to Asja. However, she did not show up. In the
afternoon I find out of the Reich that her this morning get
sick. Nor afternoon would not let me visit her. He translated
my speech that Kamenev held a front of the Comintern. "
Benjamin, however, stills a communist. Writing about
him as a humanist and a man in love, I keep forgetting
about it. German theorist and my love cosmopolitan, you
might not know is that the Comintern already established a
poisonous spirit of Stalinism.
Ideology is no help to the Walter meet the confusion
created by Asja Lacis in his scientist's mind. However,
Reich decides when, and for how long, seeing an actress
and writer! Since his tolerance depends on the intensity of
this relationship. On the other hand, it may be self-
confident and determined Asja, all the time, played a very
own game. What Benjamin does not understand.
"16 December. I wrote a diary and I did not more
Asja expected. Then, however, she knocked on the door.
When she came in, I wanted to kiss her. As usual, I failed. I
took out the card, which I wrote to Bloch, and gave her to
read and sign. Then, again in vain, once tried to kiss her. I
read what she wrote. When she asked me what I thought, I
said, "It's better than when to me write." And to this
arrogance She me finally yet kissed, hugging me even at
that. We took a sleigh to the city and visited many shops in
Petrovka, looking for material for her dress, for her uniform.
Therefore, I call it, because it was necessary to new dress
the same cut as the old one, which purchased in Paris.
Towards the end of the evening, Asja and I have a few
minutes left alone. I had dinner with Roth. "
I wonder who it says Valter this diary when neither
yourself not telling the truth about their feelings and
moods. He who wills themselves in the years to subjected
to psychoanalysis, opiates, Kabbalah and all way of
intellectual and spiritual experimentation. While he in
Moscow look as hypnotized by the actress.
These sentences added to him, Walter Benjamin,
infantile dimension, no matter how it sounds inappropriate
his character. And profile. Moreover, definitely he admitted
in a vicious circle of men-intellectuals who destined to be
the victim of femme fatale! He could so something never
imagined, even in Capri, where he met a fatal Asja Lacis.
In the midst of revolutionary Moscow, he longs to kiss an
actress while all around them, but loud takes place the
history of the world!
While I was with the windshield harbor in Antibes,
where from Cannes arriving by train in about ten minutes,
watched in the direction of an imaginary African coast,
compounded relationship Walter's with Asja Reich and her
husband, irresistibly reminded me of my current, indirect,
connection with Aleksandra and her husband Petar
Davidovic. I admit that this comparison for each with side
was a stretch, even illogical, but I could not to snatch such
a perception. In fact, every line from Benjamin's diary,
which mentions Asja and Reich, and so are almost all the
pages, provoked in me a complicated feelings of love and
hate. If I stopped cooperating with Davidovic - would
probably and Alexandra disappeared from my sight!
Fictitious and imaginary, because I did not see her actually
twenty years.
Walking the old Antibes fortress, built by the famous
Marquis of Vauban, I imagined himself as Benjamin.
Alexandra, of course, was Asja, Davidovic, her husband,
Reich. In these fantasies, even to me, was not illogical,
that we Asja or Aleksandra not fall into the grip when we
were alone. And that happened only in my dreams. Was
not it Odette at the same way maddening Swann! Does not
Marxist Benjamin write sympathetically about Proust, who
was a conservative and a bit perverse? Leftist and Marxist
Walter Benjamin, across Europe is stealing love and kisses
from Asja Lacis, mistress and later wife of his friend. That it
is not really a friend. And I, provincial journalist, married
and apparently settled in the middle of indifference middle
class, only a few hours a flight, deprived of the Yugoslav
breakup and gloom connect life and literature. Not without
fear to me in this gap can encircle sum is immeasurable
force. Encircle and trap. Only the thought of Sofia a bit
sober and reminds us that the complete my stay at the
Cote d'Azur just virtualization my already unsettled life.
Benjamin and my children? They are exempt from the
intimate sphere of life of their fathers.If it can and may to
think.
Petrovic, what will you do if you take literature
entirely in your hands. Maybe you're such logic in the way
that again Davidovic selfish philosophy of life? I answer to
myself - I'll think about it if it happens. Middle of this week
in away to a friend, I tried to Jovanovic raise the question
of the war in Yugoslavia, would not it be so stricken by all
the stronger interference Benjamin confessions and of their
own place. However, Jadranka unexpectedly started crying
and Branko looked at me angrily, turning blatantly talks
about other things. He began to talk about "our 68"
That evening, of course, it failed. When I was alone in the
room, I thought, why me Jovanovic's general call to visit,
when daily arise taboo and hysterical scenes. Visiting a
friend dropped completely out-of-place and just does a
round-trip ticket for a plane held back not to return home
prematurely. Of course, the promised text Davidovic, who
suggested Jovanovic? What can write in the Davidovic
post?
By returning home there are only four days. And
then, a pretty unexpected, from Bekerek phoned Sofia.
Apparently, she just wanted to tell me that me for days,
to Becskerek phone number, called a man who has a very
unpleasant voice. Messages cannot leave, he just - she
said Sofia - in her explanation that I was in France, he
muttered, "Well, he's with them!"







Charpet
Twenty

EXTORTED ANTHROPOLOGICAL
BREAK

Writer Vladimir M. is on the make-up exam: repair bugs
that Davidovic underlay Vladan Petgrovi. Cerbere. Hotel
"Le Village des Aloes". University Library in Perpignan. In
the Year 2001.


Vladimir decided to spend the night in Cerbere, with
the intention to collect himself a day or two of real intrusion
"Benjamin's legacy" in which suddenly found. Rashly
plunging into the subject of which made even a tourist
attraction. Here at the Spanish-French coast. Where
everybody knows everything. In fact, almost no one knows
the essence of the Writers' fate. A recount only the juicy
details. Intrigue. Even on the satellite image exists
simulation of the route that the autumn in 1940. Walter
Benjamin sought a way out of occupied Europe. That
Nazism was at short notice defeated. Little place Cerbere
Miroslav chosen as the least mentioned, unused,
destination local anecdotal fragments this already epochal
escape and death. Vladimir, as a writer, he wants a little
added up and subtracted. To analyze the stories, data, and
legends. That takes advantage of the fame and avoids
arbitrariness. In which almost everything known, only not
sure if there was a famous letter, which is a woman with a
child, who was with the writer in that escape, sent to
Theodore Adorno, philosophy and anthropology. In
America. Where are expecting Benjamin. It does not know
or satellite. Vladimir tries to concentrate, to with own
applied anthropology him call to mind colors, smells,
emotions and drama of the past times this memorial
destination. With the help of literary archeology, introduce
yourself in the heart of the topic. What many advocates of
conspiracy theories reduced to the uncertain fate of the
writer's lost briefcase?
In this town, Cerbere, which at dusk is a bit like a
ghost town, as records some guest in the hotel book of
impressions, actually usually coastal little town, the
reporter arrived by train from Port Bou, all confused by the
geometry and the mystique of Benjamin's disappearance.
The diary of a research trip, he writes: Surrounded by
silence, that sometimes its density becomes just physical,
but also the intensity of colors: yellow, orange, violet,
ultramarine, as I feel a touch of Matisse's palette, but the
craziness and the genius Dali surreal chaos that seemed
to flow from the cold monumentality that scares me with a
hole in consciousness. I feel it here, as if I've visited
coming from neighboring Spain and darkness Benjamin
Memorial. From Port Bou to which the German philosopher
and critic went over the hill, underbrush, rocks and long
ago heat of late summer. With a woman, photographer
Henny Gurland, and her son Joseph. There is somewhere
Fitko Lisa, also a leftist, organizer of Jews escapes through
Spain to Portugal. In those days Walter climbed by goat
trails on the slopes of the Pyrenees. At the beginning of the
road was Marseilles, in which Walter arrived from Lourdes,
where he spent a few spring weeks. Following her sister
Dora, which this shrine obviously helped, because she had
lived up to in 1946.
I read all this in the University Library in Perpignan,
where I arrived the next day, as recommended by an
elderly gentleman, our, Banat Romanians, a former
professor of teacher training colleges in Vrsac, with whom I
get to know the first night upon arrival in Cerbere, at the
bar in a cafe across the street "Hotel La Vigie", in the 3rd
route d'Espagne. Florian did not share my obsession with
Benjamin, but was very informed about everything that is
here on the Riviera was important. For the third
consecutive year, he has spent summer vacations at the
nearby Port Vender. Even a rental car the next morning, he
went with me to Perpignan. To help me in search of facts.
He told me that at one time thought of South America,
taken and movies of Benjamin. He tells me, to my great
surprise that he himself criticized Benjamin what his
philosophy often contains contradictory elements of
rational and transcendent. At that moment, but later,
Vladimir is not clear to what Professor thoughts. However,
concluded that this was not sincere when he introduced
himself as someone who is not enough to matter.
Now, we are in Perpignan. We sit in the library club,
buffet, on tables are unnaturally green tablecloths. Coffee
is from pressure apparatus. The fan, it seems unnaturally
large, buzzing and we are waiting for a Elena a librarian.
By Florian knows because she is a Romanian. However,
she was the origins of Brasov. Again a librarian. As then,
when I in the village Ecka asked Arsene Colak, and came
to counterpart Bruji - recalls Miroslav. Appeared and
Elena, introduced herself as Ellen Hall. For the librarian too
tanned and muscular. Strong legs and shoulders. While we
offered lemonade and briefed about my plans, she told us
that she works weekends as a tour guide in Banyuls-sur-
Mer. Take curious people along the route of Benjamin's
attempt to escape the Nazis! Which is not surprising
Florian, but he just shook me. In Perpignan, I first, find a
source that would know all about the last days of my
heroes!
While we are alive and eagerly discussed, begin the
club and continued at a cafeteria in a part of town rises to
hill, in caf "Les Antiquaires", full of greenery, white
tablecloths and brown-yellow walls and ceilings, Elena,
with the feeling that tells something unusual, pronounced
as Henny Gurland, who, with Benjamin was almost to his
last breath, after a certain time, as though she got hold of
America, became the wife of Erich Fromm! My exultation
about new data was not the end, I could still only indirectly
tell her, because my French was not sufficient even to
order at the bar. After dinner, which was a Spanish-
French-Basque, interrupt conversation to tomorrow? Elena
goes home. With her husband, an Englishman. We travel
back in Cerbere. With the car. Almost two hours driving.
Because we have chosen to go over the old local road.
First, by the sea. Then, serpentine. At a crossroads read:
Andorra La Vella 86 km. I am tempted to persuade Florian
to draw there. That live look at the town he lived in my
main character - Davidovic. However, that night we
returned to Cerbere. Do we turn around, who knows what I
discovered about Senor Davidovik!
In the morning, again Perpignan. Now I'm already
better prepared. In this city, and continue the story. The
first statement is confusing. People speak French, Basque,
Corsican and Breton. Intoxicating range of languages. His
hundred thousand people, probably strangers lead in state
of linguistic signs! Ingrown in the area between the
Mediterranean and the Pyrenees, all in gradients, full of
palm trees and plane trees, and a fountain with mountain
water. And, palace, trade names, dances and songs -
breathe with Catalonia. Town of fabulous beauty! A city full
of sun and greenery. The movable holiday in the
Mediterranean. No wonder the surrealist Salvador Dali
called Perpignan "center of the world." My theme is,
however, a German. Walter Benjamin, who escape
through this natural and architectural beauty thought only
of saving lives. I'm not sure that he anything about the
environment observed.
Elena was accurate. However, dressed differently
than yesterday. In white and rosy dressed. Tanner,
acquired probably during walking trails of refugees, it is
very noticeable. Hardly discreet makeup and fragrance.
Finally, there is a part of her story about Benjamin's last
hours. We're back in the club. We drink sangria, Elena -
Coca-Cola. The story of the days of September in 1940
begins by mentioning the two women's names. One was
Henny Gurland. She with Benjamin reached the place Port
Bou. Of the representatives of the authorities found out
that Walter has no valid documents. Expired his German
citizenship and the French did not receive. Shock.
Disaster. As it is occurred end of the World. A similar fate
apparently awaits her son Joseph. Even he does not have
valid documents. However, the little person is not
interested Germans. Neither residents collaborators.
Benjamin, however, at the end of her life's journey. Return
to the camp is out of the question. Years ago, when he
was in Nice in the former communists, mystic and positivist
at the same time, predicted suicide as a way out of life-
saving potential of living impasse. Before the morphine
overdose, or so he testified Henny, in a later letter to
Adorno, who was awaiting him. In New York. He asked this
young woman, the latter known photographer, the contents
of the letters memorize and then destroy the letter. Thus,
everything based only on the testimony of Henny Gurland,
on her honesty, and faith in her sincerity. And honesty.
While the one Benjamin's suicide note remained
undisturbed. Moreover, forwarded. This message intended
for some Catholic convent in Spain. Thus, she testified
about everything.
We then stopped working for a while, while Ellen
performed their duties in the University Library. For this, we
have time, Florian and I ran through catalogs and
informers, at lunch in the cafeteria. That was actually the
name of La Court restaurant 66", in an environment of
cross-tradition, which was the Spanish and French.
Building with a lot of blue in exterior and a moderate
interior kitsch. During lunch, he played with guitar local
artist Jerome. Then followed the story of another woman
from the saga of Walter's tragic end. Elena had taught us,
with a touch of professional indifference, as some
European of Lisa Fittko, later , American journalist and
writer, was one of the organizers of the effort to save the
French scientists and artists, mostly of Jewish origin. They
were trying somehow to arrive in Lisbon, where they
intended to get by boat to America. With Benjamin's group
and she reached the place Port Bou. And was obviously
less familiar with Walter than young Henny, because he is
still this, Gurland, dictated his last letter, so Fittko not know
details about the writer's last hours of this writer, but
remember Benjamin's briefcase, from which the writer, and
in addition to its substantial weight, not parted. In the bag
were some literary manuscripts. Allegedly work that he had
begun writing a few months before trying to escape. More
in Marseilles and Lourdes. Madam Fittko testifies
unequivocally that the briefcase not found after Benjamin's
death. She hasn't listed on the police found property in the
room Hotel "France". Elena goes on to say, how the
Henny Gurland purse first not mentioned, then that
subject as he remembers through the fog, and finally
assumed that it was irrelevant to Benjamin. Or too
important, and the same is he himself destroyed. Wrapping
up this story, Elena says that Mrs Fittko, later very
prominent in the United States, repeatedly returning to Port
Bou, Cerbere and Banyuls-sur-mer, in order to find the
famous briefcase. However, it was not. Only the pipe,
round glasses and a couple of trivial little things waiting for
the police depot hearse, or some interested Museum.
Mrs. Hall was about, was much more extensive.
Even we suggested, addressing more Florian, which is the
whole thing, however, less interested, but he knew
Romanian, there are still some rumors and theories about
the true version of Benjamin's death. What I initially stated.
I'm just not able to receive more information. I asked, for
the separation with Elena, it writes no coincidence Walter a
farewell letter to Asja Lacis? To that, has librarian
responded to the issue - and by that Asja Lacis? My
attachment to the romance of Benjamin's life was thus
violated. Probably no reason. I misplaced, because the
romance Walter and Asja long since ceased. In the
whirlwind of Nazism, Communism, literature and Brechtian
theater, which is devotee, was Lacis. Which was also a
very ambitious woman? Who knew how with men. While to
them do the same with her did not work.
My trip to the Pyrenees and the ocean was ending.
That's why I stayed in it for one more night - Vladimir
Miroslav ends the first part of his diary from the south of
Europe. Aware that filling part of the void Benjamin's life, at
the same time opens up new mysteries. That would remain
irrelevant that the previous not deciphered ... So, continue
to swirl that fascinates.












Chapter
Twenty-one

PAINFUL END OF TRIP TO FRANCE


From the delayed letters reached drama deferred action
Cannes. Nice. Lion. Timisoara. Bekerek. "The sting in the
head" (13). It is the year in 1993.


Week 14 April, when I left for home, from the
morning was rainy. Nice Airport as it plunged into the sea.
Waves and wind everywhere. Branko gave me a ride from
Cannes in the early morning. Forgiveness, less warmly
from welcome before ten days. Jadranka waved to me
goodbye. After a casual silence, before entering the
customs area, Jovanovic me speechless provides an
envelope on which recognizes Davidovic nervous
handwriting? I'm putting it in my pocket. Embrace as the
two machines. Then we wave to each other. It's like he's
saying something. A plane taking off. Nice disappears. Sea
to foam and values. I ask myself how we both lost with this
Cannes meeting. Is it all wrong? Only the shadow of Petar
Davidovic? The next fifteen minutes I manage not to reach
for Davidovic script. I struggle myself. Flights shake from
the wind coming from the Tyrrhenian Gulf, and in that
moment, finally opening the envelope. I see two papers,
one written manuscript, which does not recognize. I'll take
it, because, first Davidovi, shorter text:

"Lion, 2 February

Dear Vladan. I'm here on some business that does
not happen. I'm waiting for some merchandise. I walk
through the city, and was much bothered. Then decide to
you this final inform - Alexandra left me. It seems that I
only have you. Friends. I'm sending her a letter, in which
informs me to me she leaves. I apologize a lot, because I
am sending a letter just now while I got it several months
ago. Previously, I just was not ready to tell you the news.
Even now, I'm not sure that I am doing the right thing, but I
have the impression that Alexandra to you formerly means
a lot. Her letter will, I believe, in our communication
introduces new honesty. And, I will explain my mental
state. This year accumulated much sadness in me! My
family fell apart and the other pleasures are so superficial
and immediate. The only thing I believe more in our
manuscript ... And here is an Aleksandra's script, which
contains shocking news, as for me, maybe you will hit
more.
P.S. I'm getting closer to the promised suicide. Your buddy
Petar Davidovic. "

Until Zurich we circled ten minutes over the airport, I
did not dare to take Alexandra's letter. Petar, who for
months had ignored the fact he knew she was my
girlfriend, I now submitted to him sent farewell letter! What
devised when it does? Hypocrisy or part of the strategy?
My only sure it's not the honest intention or real mental
strait. While such thinking, the plane finally started landing.
Below is quite hazy. I take Alexandra's letter, but just at the
moment when I started reading it, a gust of wind compels
an aircraft to return to a safe height. Circling for a few
minutes and I solve to ignore meteorological conditions
and read:

"Petar,
I hope that this letter finds you in the state of
levelheaded because I want to understand it well. And take
it as a definitive fact. Here is what I have to say. First, I'll
never go back to our apartment because our marriage from
the very beginning was a mistake and an accident. I did
not ever love you, while you never respected me. You
have been a substitute, and I you pretty facade. Therefore,
all conditions for failure are from that time were with us. I
had to get married because I did not want to give birth to
an illegitimate child that I carried. It has, of course, his real
father, but to him I did not then want to admit that I was
pregnant. He was very ambitious and wanted to graduate
on time, to employ, and only then marries me. I did not
want to my pregnancy perceived as a trick or deception. As
something that would slow down or ruin his career. Which
is to him was very important. And the child I did not want to
sacrifice. I ran away from him, from Belgrade, and married
for you. So now, you know what you always suspected:
Pavle is not your son. His father is Vladan Petrovic. Your
supposed friend. Pavle is the only my child. He was my
only child and now is my grave! They tell me that you are
my son truly mourned, that is, I must admit that the most
precious thing you've done for me. However, you are and
the main culprit for his departure to war, and I hate you for
that. Disgusted me from the first meeting with your
uncomfortable cold body. I was sick bouts when you
hugged me, kissed or taken on the way that's I insulted
every time.
Luckily, you can quickly saturate my body, or I
turned down my deliberate coolness. If you only knew what
I was with the man I love! You forever only thought of him.
About money, health, alleged elegance, gambling, other
women. You dreamed of an imaginary size. All of us in the
family were just a decoration around you. Children and me.
In politics are indulged just to get close to his father, Mr.
Davidovic. However, your father Zivorad was a real
opposition, reactionary at heart. You - a pale shadow of
his! Coward. I know all your fear of the day when you
accidentally hit the cobblestones police during
demonstrations. You were messing with things that did not
able to cope with. I'm sick of your cowardice, narcissism,
rudeness. You're my son, Pavle pushed into war. Your
rants about the duties of a real Serb led him to war. Petar,
I'm not going to curse you, but I hope to you in later life
manage that deserve. Travel there from where you will
long to return.
Aleksandra, again Andrejevic.

Do not look for me. For you, I would not be anywhere. "

Having read the last line of the letter, I felt how we
emptiness takes over the entire body. From the womb to
my temples had run panic. Now the absurdity fulfilled all of
my body. I had a son, which is no more in fact, I have
never really had! I have actually dead son, whom I do not
know. That news on horror wore inside murdered
awareness of fatherhood. After the emptiness and
numbness, follow the trepidation that I could not control
myself. As I was sinking into unconsciousness as
I heard from distance passengers of the plane that my
condition defined as epilepsy. I woke up in the infirmary the
Zurich airport. As I was a guest in your own body. I arrived
with evening flight to Timisoara. Mist from head was
turning into an intense but vague pain. I became aware
that my Pavle, my son, whom I have never seen, nor will I
ever live to see, practically only regrets as a human form
whose name cannot be without Alexandra assemble.
Neither photograph does help. I never heard his voice, not
met with a glow in his eyes. I have not touched, kissed,
and squeezed his hand. I've never pardoned him. For me it
is only through Alexandra. As the bus passed through the
border town of Jimbolia, I realized the absurdity of
emotional traps in which, alone I found lost some I've never
even had! In fact, after the initial shock that I shook electric
power shock, knowledge that except for the name of that
young man, my son, nothing about him I do not know.
I only knew that should at a time when I saw
Alexandra would be able to feel true sadness and pain.
Reaching the Bekerek, to my apartment, I pinched my
feelings to the point of cruelty, brought himself into some
kind of order, and out in front of Sofia like a man who had a
rough day. She should not nothing to find out the,
regardless of the endless tolerance that she has graced. A
wife was happy due my return. Benevolent. Almost
heartily, though I certainly suspicions saw in her eyes. As
usual inquiries and checking left for some of the following
day. While I quite clumsily, all signs of discomfort on his
face, justifying the harsh air flight and loss of baggage at
Timisoara airport. At the same time, I was firmly resolved
to immediately start a search for Alexandra.
Chapter
Twenty-two

LITERARY MATINEE AND EVENING
PROMENADE

Intimate promotion of the novel "The sting in the head," in a
cafe "Veranda", Novi Sad. Years is 2002


Miroslav on that day was somehow in the fall, met
Rasa Batanjski, a friend of his best friend Blueberry,
journalist at the daily newspaper "Dnevnik". They went out
together in the afternoon drinks in the cafe "Veranda".
Batanjski, otherwise a literary critic, at the beginning of the
meeting is to say that he has long wanted to meet Miroslav
Vladimir, writer novel of "The sting in the head." Has not
even got orders, the waiter was nice relaxed, waiting for
two beers and cognac, and a critic begins a monologue
about how Vladimir "in his novel broke all connections with
personal meditation mannerism." Which would mean that
Batanjski not only read this Vladimirs book? While pouring
beer, which has finally arrived, afternoon, "Veranda" half
empty, Blueberry supposedly rushing to the office, finally
becoming an editor, Miroslav feverishly thinks what you
really mean "meditation mannerisms." At the bottom of the
premises see Goga how, with great dignity, transmits its
Brazilian ass through the emptiness of early afternoon.
Miroslav welcomes starring nonchalance, and with another
gulp "Vajfert" beer resolved to await the end of the
sentence smallish gentleman with the goat's beard and
yellow hair - critics Batanjski. At the same time thinks that
this will be an interesting literary afternoon in the pub.
Goga In repeated figure, playing light afternoon
eroticism, this time on a path that is closer to their table, so
it feels distinct cologne, a little too strong for this time of
day, discreetly waved Miroslav and warm smiles Blueberry,
to her for half an hour becomes her boss. With the empty
glass in his hand, Batanjski finishes the sentence: "and
achieved a commendable literary result." Miroslav now
knows where he stands, although it has said does not
explain anything. Here comes another drink, which is
usually early, "but if you insist, that follows the conclusion
that "in this novel Vladimir conditionally learned the basic
story of a writer-procuring entity. Certainly in the novel is
this position substantively, narrative and explanatory
implemented and upgraded with a clear differentiation of
characters, initiation and resonance". Miroslav was more
nervous because for the first time in the literary career
attending sessions live performance critics. In the
atmosphere of glasses, bottles and waiters. For Blueberry
constantly observe the movement of scarce offers women
the world in a bar. Not that Miroslav quite agrees with
Batanjski, but perhaps others of his novel as it sounds.
Miroslav is a "sting", however, based on a number of lost
illusions. Blueberry fidget, he wanted to go to at the same
time it is awkward that Miroslava left alone with critics.
Literary critic, however, slowly and theatrically begins to
drink cognac, second. And he continues: "The writer, that
you " easy to smile, " the basic time-creative knit leads in
the first person, but the branches in several subtly
transposed executions: position "Arch Confessor", position
transmitters of other people's texts and positions that
impose obligations global articulation. "
Satisfied, however, that "global articulation,"
Miroslav Vladimir successful coldly to receive Blueberry
going with woman person with impressive breasts. It was a
common colleague Slavica Jefti. The departure of
Lieutenant B. , however, with his hand, proved to be
returned. Rasa Batanjski, directly addressed the writer
"The sting" while afternoon in the "Veranda" goes into the
evening. They started the actors to arrive. Miroslav is
greeted by with Jasna and Ratko, with a bit of theatricality
that is appropriate to the ambience of the theater club.
Batanjski continues with the release of his verbal criticism:
"You, therefore, in a situation sensitive and subtle
coordination between other people's text, the text of
various reflection and self-reflection, resort to the method,
conditionally speaking, amplified reflection. Actually a
reflection of what is reflected in the mirror (metaphysical
sphere) versus the mirror, where the reflection is still going
on so that ambiguity codes are no longer following as
"receptive couples" but as a demanding and challenging
semantic geometry. "
Quit saying this is like a real theater monologue,
Batanjski contentedly sat in the chair made of bamboo,
ready to Vladimirovo thanksgiving, which Miroslav
oversights, confused the thought that race was probably a
fag, while actually cause such discrimination was usually
misunderstanding the critical text. And simultaneous
occurrence Blueberry. With an expression on his face that
connected the post-coital confusion with a fateful decision.
If such a thing is possible. Lieutenant B. sitting at the table
opposite critic. Who drinks another drink. I speak loudly
and Miroslav only binds themselves to handle the editor:
"Have a drink!" What Blueberry accepted for granted and.
With the proviso that and he goes on cognac. Miroslav
looks questioningly in a friend, more doubting the
possibility coital interludes. He is silent, drinking and slowly
comes to a renewed concentration. Miroslav Vladimir asks
him something, nor alone does not know what, nor
Blueberry suits to question. Miroslav, completely out of the
psychological context of the table, he thinks: is it possible
to Batanjski really thinking that's what's in the novel really
Davidovic text. Or the text of a real Davidovic. Though
Petar Davidovic really exists, and inflicts to Miroslav very
real difficulties. Not only literary nature.
Part spoken, which refers to the mirror, and still be
accepted, Vladimir brooding while Bluberi nervously gets
up and goes to the bathroom. Just when he was about to
he went to the same place, to hear what an unbelievable
happened Bluberiju in less than fifteen minutes, Batanjski
continues monologue: "In this novel, the author follows
several "author". Not only text-writers, but also behind the
mind, call literary culled existential earthquake and cracks
and, above all, the paradigmatic relationship to
autobiographical coating that covers the entire colony
spiritual "Atlantis." Miroslav has the impression that
Batanjski thinks he is currently on a promotion. He begins
to annoy such condescension of critics. That is rapidly
sinking into alcohol. The orchestra, which plays in the
evening at a bar, slowly arrives. They are called "Big
Sisters band." Bluberi finally speaks. But not to explain my
confusion. Informs to the editorial meeting disposed of until
tomorrow. Goga, who is also found out, with Slavica and
senior colleagues Brankovan, sitting at the table across
from them. For the case that Bluberiju, future editor, need
anything. In the "Veranda" then noisily enters a young
football player. The crowd is growing. No longer in the
afternoon. Neither eve. Night begins. But Batanjski, with
penultimate sober pages of his head, telling what Vladimir
almost not hear about his novel, and in that moment, all he
does seem out of place: "As to the place in front of us
became the serious Breugel paradigm of blind persons, as
we follow a writer who follows a writer who also does the
same. Followed by the writer. There, in that area, where
the from unrealized love, spline totalitarianism, collective
and personal morality and immorality, degradation of
values and resignation middle aged people or suspect any
personal mission, carried out compositional -
photosynthesis. "Pass all without applause, which was
expected from Vladimir, according smug face Rasa
Batanjan while we Bluberi finally, quietly informing: "There
was Blanua. Saw him the morning of the Fair. "
Miroslav that moment became aware that this was
definitely the life of the Internet. And said, "Maybe it is not
for us here! Because I'm a writer and "meditative
academicism." Well, whatever that means. And I hope that
you did not sign his real name in those stories
electronically. While meddle Davidovic bastard and our
destiny. As a reputed lieutenant Bluberi "! Vladimir would
be easier when he uttered this thought though, soon felt
stupid so underestimates criminals. What, however, of too
realistic fiction, and Rimini, coming directly into Novi Sad.

Chapter
Twenty-three

BENJAMIN AND ASJA VISITING WITH
VLADIMIR'S

Neither reality nor dream in the gap between the two
novels: The apartment on Western Boulevard. Bekerek.
The year is 2003
rd




This bizarre clip from the total events sweet as
smoke primary opiate began to crystallize for several days
before Miroslav flew to Moscow. It seems like almost
invented while it played out as expected and inevitable
event. Apparition, which is the core of semi real situation,
which Miroslav Vladimir, enough after his pilgrimage
Spanish-French valterbenjamin's memorial destinations,
trying to determine the quality and durability, because the
credibility of imaginative pointless determined,
implemented a specific night between 23:45 and 3 o'clock
in the morning. Because in three hours and twelve
minutes, as evinced electronic clock in Vladimir and Sofia
bedroom room, who has been standing in the place of the
above picture Pavle Blesi "Sombor gate and trees," says
Miroslav realized that everything happened the last hour
belongs to the transcendental. In fact, the event occurred
but not exists! On the other hand, is possible, guests went
incredibly quiet, and Sofia discreetly back into eternal
sleep. By morning, he, however, trying to reconstruct just
past dream. Shock. Hallucination. Construction of the
imagination. Distorted reality. Prose poem his literary
counterpart Vladan Petrovic. Sophia messages from the
other world. Alternatively, Karamati initiation of Borges.
All, however, even this sentence not enough verbs, has a
sweet taste, which makes its way through the bitterness
almonds.
However, I'm going to start a non-existent event.
Everyone was in the apartment on West Boulevard: Asja
Lacis, Walter Benjamin, in the character and
circumstances as at the time of the Moscow trip. However,
before he foresaw that communism inevitably go towards
Stalinism, Sofia, in his youth, which means - a playful,
resilient to all kinds of mental and physical challenges,
freely dressed. Of course, and Miroslav, to us already
know. Asja at all times kept her own hat in the style of a
Parisian existentialism. It's as he brought with him and the
spirit of Gertrude Stein. In these dream-vision-rants in their
living room, came someone whose unusual physiognomy,
present in the medium of art, Miroslav constantly
disappears from consciousness. Just remember the color
and chills, as if looking directly at the devil. What is
incoherent because he never, surely, has seen a real
devil? Sophia, who is soon to everyone moved on you,
trying to persuade Walter that all of them tell his Marseilles
experience with smoking hashish. What Asja trying to
avoid and tries to story focus on how she and Benjamin, as
he persistently called by his last name, worked on the
project of reconstruction of urban Naples. Based on the
ancient and the modern in this famous Italian city. Sofia,
however, curious and persistent by Benjamin, watching us
all with care, through circular oculars, it starts with the
elaboration of that, he says, a controlled experiment with
opiates. What started going, in fact, trace Baudelaire
experience. With marijuana and opium. Walter said he
wanted to examine how, in this way, the artist may
approach the state of hallucination. Probable is closer and
profane illumination. What is Sofia has quite a strange way
of functioning, because her associations are in the area
much closer sex symbols. Although, at one-moment thinks
that guest, who is, after all, already in Miroslav's book,
without him, her husband asked for it, he asked to interpret
her Moscow jump from reality. However, she is not ready
to fully sincere about the circumstances of the incident.
What is illogical, given that this night with the spiritual
guests, some of whom already literary icons. And new
opportunities for such a question, most likely, will not be.
Asja at that time frowned because Sophie's petition
understood as a reference to his stay in the sanatorium.
Although the Vladimir's wife was far from any allusiveness!
In termination tracts of opiates and expand imagination
and reality, with their use, drink Indian tea, white rum, Irish
coffee, Guinness and Armenian cognac purchased in
Romania, which would mean to a fifth guest, yet
unidentified, drink, and attend all in the night session. A
moment of silence is used Asja Lacis, still with a large
black hat, plenty authoritative, but not too loud, beautiful
but marred by a clear line of ambition, to continue his story
of Naples. Far away, looking at the ruins of Pompeii and
Naples, she and Benjamin, concluded that the spatial
porosity occurs, in fact, as the dominant images of
everyday life experiences. The daily room daily moves on
the street, says the Lithuanian actress and streets flows
into the apartment. Because it's porous. Benjamin says,
absently wiping his glasses - "which is not bad if it is not a
one-way street." Miroslav is, just before dawn,
remembered whom, that night, and was famous Fifth guest
in their home. What was tantamount to a revelation,
because the night was strange? During this disheveled and
unique night session, they were even playing cards. They
were playing poker, in which Sophia and Walter were
amazing. Almost like a professional bluffer. Thinking
constantly about Fifth guest, as it is this one salvation of
all, Vladimir was first summoned color. Skin color unknown
persons.
He remembered indeed colors and porosity, which
held together by a weak volume of. As icy breath. Or spirit!
Diluted ocher first summoned of recent memory, which is a
dizzying empty. Then outline characters: little dog's
character heads with geometry in the expression. Hands
as undeveloped wings. And tiny feet. All dewy sweat from
intense efforts Fifth guest to break away from forgetting
that accelerates Miroslav Vladimir goes other ways
remainder. He wondered: what is all said Benjamin, whose
acquaintance apparently was, or were, that man or being,
or something in between, outside the context of the main
topics of the night, which simply deletes itself? He has to
remember details that elude him, obviously, or brain
unconsciously blocked. Such a method proves successful.
While Asja with Sofia talked about communism and the
vacation in Capri, Walter began a story about the angel of
history.
That is it! Miroslav then untied seemingly minor loop
and memories that will not last: the fifth guest was Angelus
Novus. Who is Paul Klee more in 1920 devised in
watercolor. And Walter Benjamin bought from him. A
painter who paints figurative state of mind. And many
times, at the level of metaphor, used in his essays. Sofia
and he, a writer from the Balkans, apparently, had the
honor to them personally, Angelus Novus comes to visit. In
the company of Benjamin, who through him, Angelus
Novus, in the past, and today, on the cemetery in Port Bou,
points to a series of brutal events of the future tense. To
me, this Angelus Novus flashed Vladimir, resembled little
of Lucifer, as Sofia, before I fell asleep; she claimed that
the angel and the devil always part of every unattainable
beauty. The next morning everything was different.
Nobody. Asja and Walter back into history. Sophia in
eternal shadow and Angelus Novus in aquarelle. The
apartment looked as empty space. In the cupboard , to it is
the surreal paintings by whose name are not mentioned,
was featured book "Walter Benjamin Moskauer
Tagenbuch" while her Sarajevo edition, translation by
Vladimir had, simply disappeared. From the bedroom of an
apartment on West Boulevard Becskerek, where the magic
of the real thing, played very convincingly. Benjamin left
only in German, in place of the same book with Serbian
subtitles.



Chapter
Twenty-four
THE NARROWING OF BROADER
PICTURE, IN PORT BOU

Miroslav intervenes in history the existing geography:
Former hotel "France". Museum Walter Benjamin.
Restaurant "Tauro". Port Bou. Spain. The year is 2002.


After a one-day break in the Serber, who was partly spent
with Florian, whose last name was finally able to hear
clearly and remember, a man named Florian Blidaresu, a
lot of the time spent in reviewing copies of the documents
from Perpignan, even was able to spend an hour or two to
walk along the coast of the bay. When the night this town
even more riddled with silence, Miroslav Vladimir, finally,
was ready to return to Port Bou. Important place in
Benjamin's earthly itinerary. From there this remarkable
German traveled to the Eternal Kabbalah and illumination.
In regions that are inaccessible to our mind and logic.
Surprisingly, in every moment of the trip in the intellectual
history of Europe, but also on the cruise prose scenery of
my literary heroes, he grew aware that for that his
unexpected fascination Benjamin, however, most
deserving Petar Davidovic, also his hero and accessories.
More negative character, unfortunately. Now, somewhere
in Europe, go by means of crime. Escape character in the
book, in which he entered arbitrarily as a real man, now
when found on the wrong road of life. Now wander through
the sketch, which he, Blueberry, again dislocated from
ordinary reality.
Vladimir decided to return to Port Bou, for the first
time, admits it himself, and experienced tourist and too
superficial. Superficially and nervous. He saw only a shell
of distant events. He heard the most superficial
information. A monument dedicated to the writer,
experienced as which seems to be built more out of a
sense some responsibility. Miroslav hasn't known kind, but
felt in the air, between marble and steel that the "Passagen
Werk" is not in itself the true spirit of Benjamin's "Arcade
Project". Precious ability to connect knowledge and
intuition. Those passages that needs to bridge the obtuse
angle between the one-way streets of life. In everything, he
felt a chill and expediency. That is why he returned in this
already a mythical place in the twentieth century, to
recognize a real dramatic life of the writer of "Philosophy of
History". Try to breathe real speech environment and of
matter that existed in 1940. This time does not travel by
train. The ten-minute, tunnel vault in Spain, but also
imposes an instant experience. He travels by car. Often
made paused, watching, inquiring, listening and thinking.
Almost goes along the same folds, bends and serpentine,
which are in 1940, in late summer, Walter Benjamin, visibly
exhausted, bite into a heart condition, only water and
tomatoes that was picking on the slopes, frightened,
depressed, painfully walked in the company of other
fugitives. Escape from the Nazis. And its foreboding and
discomfort.
Indeed, it was worth the bother this local road:
Miroslav this time arrived in Port Bou again accompanied
by Mr. Blidaresu, mentally and emotionally ready that city
cemetery, a hotel, as well as local stories, anecdotes and
concoctions experience and understand to the right way.
Because the truth, anyway, is not just one, each has its
own version of the truth! The only real, but fleeting and
very personal, disappeared with Benjamin.
In order to maintain this just invoked literary tension,
Vladimir decides to this second entry in the center of his
pilgrimages commence at the location of the most logical.
In the building of the old Customs House, where is in 1940.
the officer said fugitive that his visa was invalid. Because
they are, Valter documents then had to be French, as he
no longer a citizen of Germany. Old citizenship does not
have, and the new is not valid. Those who helped him did
not work properly, even in Marseilles. Alternatively, in
Paris. Vladimir is standing right in front of the all
nightmares Benjamin become an ugly reality. The
nightmare had come for her. Walter remains the only
coercive to return to France. Maybe in Marseilles, for a
new visa. In fact, he knew that he waits until the Nazi
concentration camp, or even faster execution. And, all to
him tells it in a building by Vladimir looks. Seemingly
insignificant. Because neglected. Somehow dusty. With the
broken windows. Sloppy whitewashed. In the bright orange
color. Like all the old buildings in Port Bou. Where is it all
kind of yellow and ocher. Orange and brown. Moreover,
white.
However, this is not end of irony; say to me, actually
Florian who speaks Spanish, almost completely neglected
buildings, "Aduana of the Council," only two blocks away
from Hotel "France", which is a German writer, with the
permission of the customs service, got a chance to spend
the night. That didn't wait for the morning in jail. To think,
and to kill himself. On the second floor. In a single room.
Then, Miroslav and Florian, accompanied by Mr.
Love Heras, turnkey or better put - the museum curator
Benjamin, go to seek the former hotel "France".
Now we are in place of the infamous suicide. Heras
wants to help because the building of the old hotel just
masked. Painted over. Hidden. Facade changed. Even the
street renamed. Though, officially, not because of
Benjamin's death. And, as that is!
"As we walked down the street Rambla de
Catalua, and go to the police station, the local
gendarmerie, which is also in the autumn 1940th was
located in this building "- recounted his friend Vladimir
Blueberry -" I felt very sad or rather disappointed. Is it
because everything is so shabby, to the place of beginning
Benjamin collision with inevitable, or perhaps because of
the grotesque selected for the museum. What is logical but
also humiliating? It was an accidental irony or
incomprehensible metaphor. And a small, inconspicuous
panel who informed about the facts of Benjamin's death.
However, is clear and intrusive advertising of "Fanta".
However, all this affects less Miroslav than the farce with
the museum. What still bothers him? With his new facade
design hotel, I would say, "make-up" almost
understandable! It is a game of hiding unpleasant past a
small hotel near the end of Europe. For the reason that
people who were living of tourists still prefer cleverly
packaged melodramatic stories but the true evidence of
pogroms against the Jews. Tells, while the three of them
sat down near the former, of course Mr. Heras who owns
several properties in Port Bou, how, then, the local
Republicans had succeeded Benjamin to spend the night
in the hotel instead of in jail. Is it, perhaps again superior
toying fate: in prison would enjoyment much harder
committed suicide? During a search of would probably take
morphine pills. However, in a room on the second floor,
overlooking the nondescript small park and parking,
without with a blue, with Mediterranean, which beat to the
whole building, Walter is the only option left to commit
suicide. In another way - back to the lager, for him did not
exist as an alternative. It decided long ago. In Nice or
Lourdes. Escape, continue through the Pyrenees, there
was no conceivable with respect to the physical condition
of his body. Therefore, in the morning the next day, Henny
Gurland in the room she found only his body. The
investigating judge, a certain Ferdinand Pastor Nieto,
wrote in the obituary that ascertained cerebral shock.
Apparently, to the German Jew, writer Benjamin allowed a
Christian burial. With a marked grave. And there, the plot
already fatigued turnkey or ironic situation. Heras says
Don, I read it in a newsletter Benjamin Foundation, to
some Hannah Arendt, when is after a few months, still that
1940 years visited this cemetery, but could not find a grave
marked by the name of Walter Benjamin. A tile with
personal data is gone. This strange scenario unusual
circumstances of Benjamin's death, did not know nor does
Mr. Heras, learned Florian from his compatriot Romanians,
teacher and curator, still not end. For, already mentioned
Henny Gurland, from Benjamin's savings, paid the burial
site for five years in advance, at the expiration of that
period, because nobody extended lease, gravediggers are
Benjamin bone through to the common grave! At the same
place where his body would find that, the doctor stated that
it was a suicide.
They waited evening in the cafeteria "Espana",
close to the sea. The only difference with the lunch break
was that they were joined Heras friend, journalist Diego.
Correspondent almost all local newspapers in the region.
He is the current story, with more glasses of what that
looks like ink, Benjamin described the final hours, added a
few bizarre details. Especially about the obscure hotel
"France". In some past times. However, the night after a
busy day, full of impressions, as to everyone decreased
attention. Florian was tired from Miroslav whom still held
some and unknown to him adrenaline. Diego Forcan, a
journalist, said that he wrote about it and spoke to Radio
Perpignan. As the former owner of the hotel, "France",
Juan Suner Jonan, a contributor the Gestapo, who actually
held at their informal local headquarters. Among the
smugglers, squealers of any kind, and criminals, agent:
Russian, French, Spanish and Portuguese, prostitutes,
drunks, random unexpected guests, spent Benjamin
almost certainly no sleep, last two hours of his life.
Probably are in the hall this hotel, sat and drank and
undercover Republicans. Who were not able to help him
considerably?
Miroslav is though, that a lot loose storytelling
Forcan Diego was most surprised by his statement to the
doctor September's morning Indeed, during the autopsy, is
Benjamin's body found no trace of opiates, poison or any
other chemical substance. What the writer is evident had at
himself a few hours before his death. And after his death,
the tablet was not in the hotel room. The subsequent
review of then it was, asked Miroslav Vladimir, when that
evening, in fact, late at night, plunged into the sea, in that
"Big Blue"? This enigma tortured him while he was
returning to Serbia. He will have the impasse consider and
with Blueberry, a friend, except that preference to the
adventure story, in staunch supporters of all kinds of
conspiracy theories. This death, without direct witnesses in
such as crowded hotel all sorts of desperadoes and the
executioner, on the edge of occupied Europe, where the
other begins no man's land and then performs the lobby of
hope, it's an ideal subject for speculation what Lieutenant
Blueberry worship. Not suicide, but nor natural deaths. Do
imposed some third possibility?



Chapter
Twenty-five

AGAIN ABOUT DAVIDOVIC, PAVLE AND
MY HUMAN AND LITERARY DILEMMAS

Vladimir read the text that is to Vladan Petrovic
subsequently arrived by Davidovic. It means, within the
events of "The sting in the head," about from 1997. In
Becskerek, but already is Year 2002
nd



Vladan Petrovic writes in his novel "The sting in the
head":
"It was just in time for my most intense reflections on my
unknown son. When I questioned my conscience and
disgusted by the calmness with which I think of Alexandra's
and my child, of it only to her, because I was not informed
about pregnancy and childbirth, even the death. In my
writers' workshop coming Davidovic new fragment of him,
the son who is no more. For whom was later found out that
was not his, almost at the same time
When it is me came the voice - mine. And that is no longer
among the living. It seems to me, however, that with that
text her something right - temporal does not fit into the
logic of the accident
Read Vladimir Miroslav "Excerpt from the war on the
coast," the unnatural experience likes to do a textual
analysis. Even admiring descriptions of war landscape in
Dalmatia. And he notes that, Miroslav Vladimir is not
normal. Therefore, I have no more confidence in
Davidovic, and everything that came from him I experience
as manipulation and fraud. Even when it comes to a real
family tragedy, in which participates. If things are viewed
from a realistic point of view, the fact of entering into the
subject at the moment when the initial sounds were played,
but, it should be understood as a stylistic figure: a literary
game of hiding and disguising for the sake of greater
enjoyment! Alternatively, less suffering! The young man,
under a camouflage uniform, his place in the middle, or
even in the second half of the actual literary family saga
Davidovic-Brown, could not the complicated place to start
because it only exists in the literature that time. And
although a lot about his origin is not clear, however, is the
obvious rift that this war of the nineties brought among the
people and the protagonist. His direct involvement in the
field, where the real strategy is implemented and provoked
hatred, initiated a number of questions for years oversleep.
Shooting on the other hand, and when he missed the goal
- scorers! From scattered fragments of the inherited past,
to his every burst of fire vaguely and overcast fabric past
life reciprocates to scream or curse.
"The young man walks through the empty space in
winter warfare, away from the true meaning, because him
consent to the official reason for killing faced with a series
of questions that even I myself would not dare to answer.
The father had emigrated.
Apparently, the time shows his disagreement with those
who are fighting this war. A war in which he voluntarily
participates. An individual who kept a daily basis trying to
act the stunt - principles heroes comics because its their
bluff-psychology helps to solve everyday abominations of
the system of its only rock and roll. While stomping Velebit
snow with a little misplaced item, strictly controlling the
thoughts, in thinking does not go away, not to think deeply,
to be superficial and others unclear for those who manage
them, the young man starts in a completely different way of
understanding the essence of their favorite activities
heroes comic Zagora. Only he, Pavle Davidovic, real and
vulnerable, drove from their Darkwood. Does this case the
strip script right? In this blurry war went largely due to his
father's cowardice and his escape from the country.
Not only would the authorities were correct and patriotic,
but due to the family balancing: since the beginning, his
ancestors have always had someone in a fight. Even in
exile, too! With the help of school learning patriotism and
personal under- approach to the concept livelihood
strategy of comic books and rock and roll music, the young
man trying to survive the stupidity and cruelty of war and
the ruins of Yugoslav socialism. Strip it still leaves stranded
on reality. He completely sober up by the media's, or more
specifically television patriotism, looking unreal Obrovac
because right should not exist as missiles and shells
collected. The young man, awake and all the horror of
burning reality as the parallel live mixed reality and their
own image of the literary world, which his father vainly
writing already years established.
While passing by slaughtering livestock in the
village of Klis, in the middle of the shaken combat unit that
returns with sabotage task youngster feels odor similar to
that intercepted by Vladan, his literary father, in return to
the Dalmatian homeland. It was in the smell of sea and
salt, which touches the soul. This genetic experience
perceived and
Pavle, how called a young man who goes through a time
rift ninth decade of the twentieth century. If you survive the
war, in which he went to decisively confront its past, of
which in the parental home only silence, him awaiting the
big decisions. Because his father and mother, the family
were clearly not on the same side of history and religion.
Shooting without aiming, in some vague moving targets,
which may represent opponents, with painful reflex in
wounded hand, Pavle asks himself: What am I to prove if
by some chance, stay alive."
This text is, of course, created before Aleksandra's
letters; in it, Davidovic reveals that Pavle is not really his
son. While it manipulator Davidovic sent self-evident from
the delay. Literary actually my Pavle is searching for their
roots, and guided literary hand and looked for them in the
past Davidovic. How in this manuscript appeared that
Davidovic knows an Aleksandra's secret? Would he literary
projection of his conceited son left to death and prior to the
actual termination of life of Pavle. I read this para-literary
writings Davidovic, the first after learning that the young
man was dead, that was my child and not the Petar's son,
tortured and placed in a dilemma: whether stop writing an
increasingly masochistic tearing own being? I wonder
whether to venture to redraw of pages that I wrote before
knowledge of his own fatherhood? What will I achieve by
subsequent patronizing?
Now I know that is foreboding in order to literary
work, with a two-faced friend Petar Davidovic, could turn
into a sickness that will tuck me in its darkness, coming
true. It remains only to see what else can cause this
novelistic mixing with reality! To measure, in fact, the depth
of my emotional fools. In Zagor's world there is a whole
myriad of characters, as his friends salt and enemies, but
only recently in his field of vision began to appear and
women. Young man was in the wilderness of war without
friends. Women not mentioned. When he accepted the
comics as a way to survive different and meaningless rules
did not realize that his cruel writer leave it stranded. When
he accepted the logic of comic books as a way to survive
the absurd and different rules did not know of him
screenwriter cruelly left in troubled. Vladimir, from
ignorance of the genre fails to upgrade a history of another
hero. Who is also his son. It fails to protect the young man
that has no forest Darkwood in which to hide him while
lasts inimical prosecution. "







Chapter
Twenty-six

LETTER, TELEPHONE, NEWSPAPERS

Since it is a novel, "The sting in the head" and the year
1996. Davidovic has not yet been Balducci. Moreover, he
apparently is dead, as Davidovic, while Blueberry not yet
revived as Balducci. In Beckerek.



Arriving Bekerek while from all sides came bursting
exiles. I feel miserable. I wonder: is it enough I describe it
as a tragedy that increases every day? Moreover, it I feel
indignation? However, would I have something else to do?
Serbia, from government to citizens, silently looks on as
these people running away from Croatia. Trying to pass all
do not conspicuous, that happens in the shadows and
silence. Sophia is sick. Influenza. He tells me that
Draskovic phone call. Said, he had something important to
impart to me. I think to myself, that something found out
about Aleksandra. It will be called through three days of.
Was accompanied by a shipment from France - concludes
the Sophia. There is no script, only a few newspapers in
French - she continues it mentioned in the newspaper, and
Davidovic. I take the bundle and find daily newspaper with
the Cte d'Azur, "Nice Matin". In the first reading, I was
able to figure out that something happened to Petar. His
photograph, apparently with ID cards hinted at the bad
news. Since my competence in the French language is not
even in the second reading has improved, I called in the
help of a neighbor, a professor Radojcic. He came quickly,
because in my voice, concluded that something important
at stake. In a few minutes, everything was clear. Moreover,
in newspapers, and the fate of my book. The professor
read the following: "La Vella, August. As we found out from
the Police Station in the capital of Andorra, a Yugoslav
citizen Petar Davidovic (52) found last Monday, dead in his
hotel room "Flora". To the victim's body were visible
gunshot wounds, while his face disfigured. It seems to be a
robbery because the hotel room demolished, while
witnesses claim to have killed person days of hearing that
appeal to some people to ransom. Mr. Davidovic lived for
several years in Andorra and was involved in various
activities quite delicate nature.
The investigation is continuing". Without any
external reactions I've listened to the professor's
translation, though I was shocked by the way in which
Petar died. As I escorted neighbor, thanks to him, I
deliberately overheard his question: if I knew a man who
killed in that "Andorra"? Petar, therefore, ended his round,
not as promised, but enough tragic. Does that mean that
our common story end? However, I was the previous day
another scene from the highway, very different from the
tank and the euphoric Surin airport, definitely been
convinced that the novel should be completed as quickly
as possible. Because this is happening now is a logical
end of the story that I started in 1991. year. Petar's death
has only accelerated the decision. Driver of literary
adventure is gone. All of his dilemma and trauma probably
still recorded. We took away their anger; we put them in
the time to check. Unfortunately, the texts that are written,
but nobody yet saved. I disrupted his life and literary
metabolism, and Alexandra nowhere! In what has
transformed the years that I've settled in a time between
the two directions of the highway! The only help me
knowing that the novel can be independently to survive.
And, just when I was ready to philosophizing and self-pity -
the phone rang. Draskovic!
Petrovic, listen to me carefully. We have, so to
speak, friends, my friends and I have concluded that you
invented this Davidovic. Professor Dikli, he's a
psychologist in the service says it is safe in terms of your
double, and that you, sorry, just read, split personality. Let
me translate it: turns out to be not quite normal. We have
not yet found out how you get that letter arrived, but now it
does not matter. Vladan Petrovic, listen to me carefully: we
have decided that, because of this knowledge, free from
surveillance and control. You are self-sufficient ...
However, because of the camaraderie, I have done
something for you. I came to the information that will
interest you. In a few days to you will this information
arrives in the mail ... At this point Draskovic, as usual,
hangs up.
Moreover, I remain astonished insolence and in a
way, lucidity of my spy, and his colleagues.
Reeled ruled. Although their conclusion, I invented
Davidovic and correspondence with him, wrongly, in
conclusion, not far from the truth: I'm not at the beginning
of the war, reported Petar, I would have to invent it. Simply,
my mental address then asked literary output. The
emigrant only served for therapeutic purposes! In addition,
the fate of the novel would be very uncertain, because a lot
of motivation and encouragement came from just
Davidovic.
It is interesting though that they, the secret service,
denying his right to existence. Which may mean that they
believed that Petar Davidovic only works as a literary
figure? That is, as they say analysts of national security,
my double! Moreover, no staff who attacked a police officer
at a demonstration. What should think carefully? Because,
so far, the first criticism of contents that what I'm years
wrote. While waiting promised information, Vladan Petrovic
suddenly thought, who sent him to the French newspaper?
In which t published the news of the death Davidovic.
Maybe Jovanovic. Because Cannes is an elite resort very
close to Nice and "Nice Matin read in this city. And Petar
is Jadranka brother. He was the brother of Jadranka,
correcting himself Vladan. For a moment, I was so relieved
to think - that these French newspapers sent his friends in
France. Alternatively, does someone else, with a hidden
intent, do it.




Chapter
Twenty-seven

WHILE THE VIEW TOUCHES POPLAR
Blueberry and Vladimir discussing, mostly about Benjamin.
Buffet Radio Novi Sad. Novi Sad. Year of the 2002
nd



This conversation came a few weeks after the return
of Vladimir from Moscow. In addition to official business
that performed there, two stories and an interview a lot of
time devoted to research traces Sophie's health incident of
years ago. And, of course, all kinds of circumstances
surrounding Benjamin's stay in Russia. However, he was
looking for allusions, journalists and historians, that Stalin's
Soviets, actually his secret police involvement in Walter's
death of the Spanish-French border.
His interlocutor is Blueberry, journalist and editor.
And a good friend. Lieutenant. Whose real name is not
crucial for the fate of these windows. Because nor name
Michael Steven Donovan not sound enough known. Talk to
him about the texts Davidovic alias Balducci and his
criminals from Europe. Their story, however, has reached
a critical point. In literary terms, especially in the part
where it is too intertwined with reality. Agreed upon, two of
them, on the subject - as, for initiated, criminal story the
literary enrich would not it be crime reality safely moved
away from them. Blueberry is not in it. He thinks that they
can still walk along the edge of the blade, which is getting
closer to Novi Sad. Vladimir still not sure whether a
journalist for the story that is woven around Davidovic /
Balducci, using some materials, police and intelligence, or
simply the maximum strain own experience reader and
devoted fans of the genre.
After a pause, while drinking beer or brandy fierce
"Excellency" and greet journalists strolling by buffet Radio
Novi Sad, one of them stroking the back of Snezana,
music editor, Blueberry, just outside the subject, notes that
the literary character Vladimir Vinogradov, the sage and
anarchists, from a previous book, really like Basara's
alleged hero and future Parkinson. In fact, they are the
antipodes, although is an inventor and a therapist, and
homo-politikus a metaphor for many things, and other
physical chemist, an expert on lubricants. For the
lubricants! He adds that it would be interesting to know
whether the employees in the University Library, limpet
book Vladimir with fictional
Vinogradov, the writer did it once, and praised Blueberry,
which is very like it, yet entered in the official register.
Miroslav though caught Blueberry to remember that his
student project, tell a friend that he just copied his move
Nedeljko uncle, who was in the same place, he left some
of his books signed with Maxwell Beagle. How did he sign
as a writer of crime novels. Of course, this happened after
the return from the anonymity, where he has resided since
the infamous participation in the Student Revolution in
1968. Adventure and crime novels were to be known,
favorite Blueberry's reading! Like all kinds of conspiracy
theories. And one of them is the theme of their meeting in
the afternoon half-empty caf, which overlooks the oak
trees that surrounding a nearby tennis court. Similar to the
playground in Moscow, which is visible from the rooms to
visitors KGB archives? In which Miroslav read, thanks to
the good will of Anastas Klobuicki, Relatively low-placed
officials in the administration of official Government
Offices, but the ultimate insider in many areas "if you pay
enough," documents that allow the possibility of the
influence of Soviet agents in the mystery of the death of
Walter Benjamin, in 1940.
Were particularly interesting stories related to the
loss of precious handbags this German essayists. In
infamous briefcase was located Benjamin unpublished
manuscript! Miroslav and Blueberry, in temperamental
conversation for a moment ignore the presence of
Snezana, who usually plays the accordion and the piano,
which is not easy to do, ignores her, because it is, comes
to busty, intelligent and not too modest brown-haired
person with tan Spanish women.
Moreover, with a slightly broken voice that disturbs
every man's confidence. However, poplar rest, the window
is open and you can hear hit tennis balls on a reddish clay,
the beer is cold enough, while Miroslav, not without
mystification, explains how it is, perhaps, Stalin, as a
metaphor for the communist exorcism contributed to the
disappearance of the last manuscript of Benjamin's famous
handbags, that all participants in the run over the Pyrenees
view, before his death, called it suicide, natural death from
illness or murder. Political or criminal, whatever.
Women, I'm quite sure that some of the women that
you mentioned are guilty of all. And perhaps, each in its
own way. Henny, Hannah, and the already mentioned Mrs.
Fitko. Lisa Fitko - almost cries Blueberry. There is only
Asja Lacis innocent - Snow White adds, acting as if nothing
is listening. Despite being this Asja the biggest villain in the
whole thing, neither on his tomb never came ends hers
intervention women with impressive chest and dark
complexion. A Blueberry, not even waiting to hear how
Miroslav completes the myth of Stalin's executioners, who
are actually cruising through Europe and the Americas,
with a mission to take revenge apostates communism and
Stalinism, concludes that "Philosophy of History" Benjamin,
a manuscript from the famous briefcase, sufficient reason
for a political assassination ordered. The only question is
whether it was executioner Gurland, checked Communists,
or is it to help her do some of the Soviet agents, which was
in the problematic at the "France" in Spain in Port Bou.
What does not relieve the responsibility neither other
women. Interested in Benjamin's writings. That done
because of the sale, the appropriation of authorship or may
serve as a recommendation for a good reception in
America? Ones, these women, if you are not involved in
the act of Walter removal from life, silent about many
details, that simply eyesore - not giving Lieutenant
Blueberry. The former military cadet and graduate
philosophy. How is it that Ms. Fitko, who led the group of
Jews in getaway and she knew what the literary brand was
Benjamin, left it were a girl, Henny, that she really cares
about exhausted Germans - grumbles Blueberry. Vladimir,
however, the more surprising letter from this writer,
allegedly sent the Spanish Dominicans. And the same is
and what for Adorno, destroyed, and remembers Gurland.
For which there are no witnesses. Only Henny which
seems to correspond to the philosophers? First, Benjamin,
then From.
Miroslav, looking to bust Sneana because the
darkness is light fell on the tennis court and poplars deeply
immersed in the skies over New Now who knows From
section which consciousness emerges a quote from a
book: "When boiling blood reaches the climax - a sign To
exit from this siege state alone will be pointed .
Specifically, the author - Vinogradov, among other things,
says, "nothing so effective not pulls man from the dream as
written word. Writing is an act beyond all logic and normal
is that consciousness must react with the awakening to
such pressure . Section as a section but and delayed
response his psyche to mention Parkinson's, which would
be a sign tiredness from how that Blueberry leads the
conversation. And perhaps a consequence of the growing
erotic tension at the table.
That's why he takes the word: In Paris, Walter even
played cards with some of Otto Katz, Comintern agent,
part of the Soviet team for the persecution, torture and
murder. They were playing poker. In this card game has
participated and writer Arthur Koestler. Who was with him,
Katz, a good acquaintance. The poker player and
liquidator of Paris previously reprimanded, from their
Moscow commanders, about uncontrolled killing. While
other friends, Benjamin, in Marseille writer obtained
incomplete documents, passport, for which he detained at
the border with Spain. Some are sloppy, the other
dishonest, the third killing in the name of communism in
Europe!
Turns Bluberi, "women, but women are coming
good in America. And some are even married to Erich
Fromm ". Ms. Sneana, which is the music editor at Radio
Novi Sad, and plays the piano beautifully, is not very happy
with unfounded accusations female actors in these
mystical events in the Mediterranean. With Blueberry, who
was her intimate favorite, busty lady cheerfully leaves a
society that sits in the club restaurant. Taking with them
Benjamin's Kabbalah, and hashish personal past.
Snezana's and Bluberry's past. Kabbalah as a paradigm,
while hashish only need to deepen their intensity but
finalized experience. They were the passions "golden
youth of Novi Sad" in the lobby of gloomy years.









Chapter
Twenty-eight

AN UGLY POST-WAR DAY

Vladimir reads what is he formerly - as Vladan Petrovic,
wrote in 1995 in his novel "The sting in the head." And, I
think.


Miroslav reviewed: "As a counterbalance to these
other people developments, my daily breathing as if
muffled, buried by writing a rented time. For own past
binds me to search to Alexandra, from reality me bizarre
touches famous Draskovic, all the rest turned into an
endless and monotonous line while Pavle still cannot
emotionally or rationally from literature to move into my
real-life. Moreover, start to feel sorry for him . For Sofia
with Miroslav subsequently think of. Because, she is at
hand!
Already is the year 1995. Wars as if they were
exhausted. Wounded life begins to look like a civilian.
Although for a long time will not become normal. I slowly
wake from the novel's dream into which I had fallen arrival
Davidovic letters out in 1991. As the withdrawal of evil, that
occurs in the state, and frees me to dormant instincts of
normal life. In addition, of year that they were far, I
encounter almost exclusively on the downside: a novel that
we have almost completed the Petar and no one, I saved
from a bad fate. Maybe because it is not yet published. I
lost my son before I got it; Alexandra nowhere; Benjamin
was already fifty years dead, and Asja Lacis, much later
than him.
Breaking through the rights and imaginary time I
completely neglected his role in reality: the year
peevishness passed by me and I have not repaid them.
Only my conscious and subconscious mind radiated a
great deal of stress delayed. Davidovic has long answered.
His articles have more. The manuscript is still malicious
rose: a bunch of paper reminds me of the year who I
dedicated seeking for glory, hiding behind the apparent
support a friend from college. I am, in fact, most of the time
writing this manuscript craving for honors, and requesting
Alexandra.
Everything else was incidental. Now it is early
spring. The year is 1995. The war in Croatia silent but
there are new threats. Yugoslavia divided. In Croatia
announces offensive against the Serbian enclave. A
stronger reaction to that here, in Serbia, there is no.
Moving on, we in the media, travel by Palanka and
villages, making reportages. Detecting on those trips
through the countryside oasis conserved years and ages,
looking for the ethnological curiosity, and actually creates
myself an environment that relaxes me. In the days that I
spend in Bekerek, I expect something significant
happens, something more exciting than a phone call spy
Draskovic does. What is that supposed to happen to my
startled?
Vladan Petrovic in the afternoon, with a look of
disgust, stopped reading. The cause of resentment was
not in the book, though his quest by Rilke, this time did not
bring relief. All attempts to suppress the inkling, to him
from deep inside was telling that losing ground under their
feet, could not score. In fact, the wise and elegiac page
this Prague Germans as if they were in his middle-aged
nausea kept adding flavor impasse. Try to, with reading,
soothe the growing discontent because of an interrupted
career and lukewarm intimate life, caused in him a strong
sense of repeated inferiority. Between a bottle of well
equipped buffet, tablets "Bensedin" and other books, he
has opted for the hand-bound diary of his grandfather
Branislav. What recourse whenever him over gratuitous
confusion. Previous nervously digging through books,
magazines, and his own old manuscripts, looking for a
theme that will calm him down or at least interest - failed to
fool him. Followed the checked method: return to his
grandfather! His memories. What are, perhaps a simple,
but clever.
He paused, then, to yellow notebook and hard
covers. It brought from her parents' home, since ancient
sixties. I read once a few lines from it and forget it. On
Sunday afternoon, full of nonsense and self-pity, my
grandfather's diary proved to be surprisingly effective.
Because grandfather towards the end of 1941. not pursued
any metaphysical uncertainty, it was real and intense pain!
Compact handwriting merchant of retail, with an ink pencil
it is written:
Man, because of which are me interrogated for
days actually had a gun. Truth told, I'm not the gun show,
because it was in a holster, but it was clear that such a
person does not carry an empty holster. He's guaranteed
was armed. It was also evident the self-confidence with
which he performed. However, I will never be a clear two
things when the gun in issue. First, why is it important to
them, too for me to know that data, I think - if he had it or
not? And, second, how and why, while I savagely beaten I
did not want to admit that this Zarko
39
indeed had a gun.
And that I admit they might not him. Moreover, that I admit
they might not him because of my recognition that harm?
Because he was already liquidated. Maybe I'm not going to
say I saw a gun out of spite, because what they beat me
over, I was more stubbornly persisted. Why should I tell
them what they already know. However, either way, my
confession they failed to extort. "
At this point grandfather's diary from World War II,
Petrovic stops reading because the building he lives
resounded explosion. A strong explosion shook the
windows, chandeliers swayed by a staircase moved real
stampede. We all ran out into the hallway. Clamor, smoke,
cries. Real panic has gripped this building with ten floors.
The police soon arrived. Then, the ambulance car. He
soon found out what had happened: a young man from the
fourth floor, a returnee from the Vukovar battlefield,
detonated a bomb earlier than that then lay down. I'll be
back in flat, Sofia cries. Night yet reached, while me
nausea over pressure. The war again, indirectly, back to

39
It's Zarko Zrenjanin, a fighter and a hero from the Second National
World War II, the Communists and a member of the resistance, in
which was Bekerek given a new name - Zrenjanin.
my life. Petrovic lies in bed, ready for a night with
nightmares, thinking what you were Benjamin pills, which
he saved himself from helplessness. In what the boxes
were stored, and whether this hero of mine, taken from the
literary past, which was forwarded to me Davidovic,
recognizes the difference between ordinary sleep and one
that leads him to pass without remembrance. I mean and
to the man of my grandfather's war notes: why that
detainee did not drink poison before shooting. Or, maybe
poison used only in situations that are uncertain. Since the
moment when you are taken in front of a firing squad -
quite certain. Then everything is clear. However, this
Partisan Zarko was probably and poison folded in police
searches during the arrest? Benjamin avoids such arrest.
He had time to decide their own destiny. To choose how to
die. What is probably even worse. Is it the same way it was
with a bomb in which the young man lay down from the
fourth floor. Grandfather's diary is this day in the life of
Vladan Petrovic, however, turned into a new dilemma that
will not be able to resolve even the author of the novel
"The sting in the head", therefore it will not work nor his
hero. Although both are suspected to each his own dose of
trouble must alone to submit. "
Vladimir before sleep does attractive thought: how
would be good if he could relieve their own trouble to leave
them that his predecessor - Petrovic! Unfortunately, it soon
discourages the new idea in order to mysterious Employer
of the literary-moralistic project soon found a new
perpetrator. Therefore, would all continue. For him,
Vladimir Miroslav and his predecessor, Vladan Petrovic are
fictitious only to be perpetrators of something.

Chapter
Twenty-nine
ADDITION AND SUBTRACTION

Undeclared wars and creation of the first novel last.
Boulevard. Bekerek. In 1993. "The sting in the head."
Vladimir read the previous novel and writing a new, not
knowing that the Blueberry meanwhile part of the story of
Benjamin, perhaps accidentally, sent newspaper The
Observer. Years is the 2003rd

Miroslav Vladimir for weeks tries to synchronize
their reading and writing. Reading in a function of current
writing. A reminder of the earlier writing, which indeed
signed by Vladan Petrovic, in function of future text.
Reading someone else's text, the one that sent him
Davidovic, almost no right to correction, because he
intended that, but the former text used as a quote. In the
often conflicting ethical, psychological and aesthetic
situations, trying to literary stacking time establish and
continuity of life. This in reality often violated. Besides the
moral dilemmas that we impose while deal Davidovic
records, I increasingly feel that within the text, regardless
of content, report a previously unknown process.
"Petar, in one place, mentioned "certain" Tikhon
Vinogradov. Does that make real connections with Jewish
Benjamin's handwriting? Probably not. It will be just
another small prank Petar Davidovic. As to play with my
propensity towards mystification. All this is happening for
his good memory - we were acquaintances, and even
friends, students of the same college. Just at the time
when I was, thinking it was very funny, the book alleged
Tikon Vinogradov, trying to launch to the public. To cause
confusion. That book, by the way, could from Natural
manuals in a moment that turns into a prayer. And as such,
the false but unconventional and provocative, I have
planted in the University Library in Belgrade. In
compartment for alchemical and Kabbalistic writings.
Which are and Benjamin interested, when they got out of
Marxism.
Moreover, Benjamin, no longer wander Moscow,
crucified among dilemma whether to join the Communist
Party. However, the problem is how to survive Asja
indecision, or how to penetrate in her feminine strategy. He
writes in "Proust in his book did not describe life as it was,
but life as it is, one who is experienced - Because here for
author - he writes about - do not play a major role content
of his experience, but weaving his memory. All this is like a
work of Penelope recall. While Sophia talking to someone
who is mistakenly ringing at our door, and there was too
much lately, I, with great excitement, I read Walter's note in
the thirties of the last century: "For here the day dissolves
the night product. Every morning, waking up, stick in his
hands, usually weakly and loosely, only a few firings,
experienced carpet life how it is oblivion woven into us.
However, every day, activity that has set a goal, and even
more memories of the target, destroys the weaving,
ornaments oblivion! The carpet, which I hold, I think, while
roaring down the street truck each day more destructive
than the previous wave. Think Vladan Petrovic, reading
Benjamin's diary that paraphrase Proust.
In my editorial office are these days on strike. The
government has dismissed our Chief of the editor, who
otherwise did not appreciate too, but he was still our choice
and did not agree with another, incompetent, easily
interchanged for days the wind blows. Dry and full of
anxiety. From family Jovanovic, from France, received a
letter full of delicate apology. T They say - they are critical
moments in their family. I can understand. Because they
hide from me that Petar Davidovic, in fact, is the brother of
Jadranka. They invited me to visit in order to find out more
about his fate, while, in the meantime, and themselves
from many sources come to contradictory information.
They could not, for whatever matter, to me to impart. The
deaths, divorce, a child who is not his and it is mine. Then
political problems. Indications of criminal activity. It
seemed as if the entire wagon memories, which comes
over one another, just physically confronted, at this point,
between us. Vladan asked: do they know also for
Davidovic and his literary agreement? The shadow of
her brother towering over them, because and they are
found out about his intended suicide, but also for
problematic job in Andorra. Of course, scariest it was the
death of Pavle. Form letters cannot know that he really is
my son. On the other hand, they did not open the letter
sent to me, or ... I ponder about the literary and life
dilemmas, all of which occur more frequently during writing
our novels. How to prevent everyday to dissolve what to
me night, dream and imagination, whispered? How from
other people's memories weave thick enough fabric that
will not leak time with you? Would you like Proust,
replacing Day for Night? Even if try, if I know how to ever
return to the world of established relationships? I'm not
ready to completely immerse in such Penelope's garden.
Although, daily life sufficiently disgusting. In recent months,
however, haunting me more feeling that I, with substantial
support Davidovic, all longer live in the border areas of
mixed worlds. Petar Davidovic, with their texts, with many
autobiographical elements, not only in my life brought
literary confusion already it changes all manner of
discoveries. Especially my past. What capriciously gets a
new dimension? Aleksandra son, death, abandonment - all
I learned later in a complex interweaving of fact and fiction.
What disturbs me? Sofia, fortunately, there are no
comments these similarities although they; I am sure, with
his hiding what he wears on the soul. The question is,
however, where the boundaries of that suffering. I want to
help her, but to her most likely I approach from the wrong
side.
The Muslim-Croat conflict, beginning in 1993, grew
into open warfare. What I am twofold, although indirectly,
touched. Because Mansur, late husband my sister
Veroslav, who lives in Mostar. However, because my
Croatian, Dalmatian roots. I admit, it's much less intense,
that compassion and care with respect to existential
problems, which I own, added the literary passion. Para-
literary and pseudo-literary concerns. Here come the
knowledge and information, with different levels, following
me from when I hang out with Davidovic and Walter
Benjamin. I only managed the fictitious Vinogradov
squeeze of consciousness, so that to me jump in the
insomnia does not occur. Sometime in the late summer
2003
rd
, unexpectedly arrives into me e-mail message from
England, in which, among other things, said:
Thu, Sep 12, 2013 at 8:55 PMThu, 8:55 PM
Message starred
Thank you for your email: Text
Hide Details
From
DoNotReply@Observer.co.uk
It
Miroslav Vladimir

The editor wishes to acknowledge with thanks your email.
Unless you have indicated to the contrary, it will consider
for publication and may edit. Whether or not we have
space to publish your letter, it will be read with interest and
copied for noting that the relevant journalist or editor
section. Please include your full address. Submission and
publication of all letters is subject to our terms and
Conditions. In summary, you agree and represent that you
have created your letter, or you have received permission
from, or are authorized field by, the owner of any part of
the letter to submit it to us. You or the owner ... and so
on
Waiting for a meeting with Blueberry, Vladimir tell a
friend for an unexpected email from England. Nice and
spontaneous Lieutenant / journalist he simply replied that
he was, quite by accident, while sending "one criminal
episode with Davidovic / Balducci" accidentally English
newspaper sent a fragment of a new novel that describes
Vladimir's journey traces Benjamin's failed escape to
America. It does not matter, the English and so it will not
release - was his comment. Miroslav Vladimir had no
choice but to agree with your friend. To Him remains to
hope that it will be so.



Charpet
Thirty
ANOTHER HORROR COMES TO POST

Agent Draskovic still held promise! Bekerek. Boulevard.
2003
rd
. Vladimir life crumbled.



In this summer, which occurred after the tragic
events in the March spring that laid bare the everyday
lives, almost to the bottom of the political-parody crime,
Miroslav Vladimir nearly vegetated. He turned off the brain,
locked emotions, reducing almost all the activities of the
human machine to function in the meantime. The
assassination had called her like that in the minds of all of
his personal tragedy. The shock froze all its higher-order
functions. In fact, he only responds to bodily sensations.
He felt something like a dull joy in every day, my skin
absorbed sullen heat, which is in the early morning hours
from nearby fields sailed in Bekerek`s Boulevard.
However, in the evening, while intoxicated with the heat of
the day disappeared into the bush, that being established
somewhere over the Tisza River, stick to the pillars of the
Zabalj's bridge, Which he remembers by the bus accident,
has crept into the harmony of the body, more pronounced
anxiety. Anxiety. From mental vacuity, that managed to
only occasional confusion Blueberry fabrication with the
crime feuilleton, Which is heating up in the cyber
dimension, ominously arose unnamed, still unformed, I
would say, not only the ethics session. Something will
happen, feels Vladimir and that before he carried out to
work for long-term intention to go to - psychiatrist! Because
bothered by the unnatural state of his mind which for years
refused to act human, spontaneously and is currently the
kinds of shocks, pains and fears. People are dying all
around him, changing even political systems, disappear
closest or at least those who could be, and he is only
thinking about some of his novels. Or, experiencing life as
a movie directed by someone else. Or philosophize about
everything and engaged in amateur psychoanalysis.
When on Monday 23 August postman rang from the
ground, the intercom, to let him into the building, Miroslav
simply knew that the discomfort he sensed just begun. It
was the same postman which was many years ago and
brought the consignment from Davidovic. After that nothing
was the same. The one who told all to Sofia. What will not
be able to do it this time. Due legitimate non-attendance
Sophie. He then. after a minute rang at his door, and
Vladimir was already sure that will not be good news. He
had only one dilemma: shipment sent as a last warning,
resentful criminals from Blueberry and his sketch, or
possessed and primitive cop Draskovic nevertheless and
finally, held his promise, what would be infinitely more
unpleasant because it is a sure fact of the search for
Alexandra! Gray, somehow official, bureaucratic envelope.
Without a postage stamp. Only the inscription: postage
paid at the post office in Novi Sad. On the other hand - the
signature: Draskovic. Already sufficiently agitated,
Miroslav, even the postman did not shut the door clumsy
opening, actually tearing the envelope of whom fall three
papers.
While bending down to pick them up, with a half
bent pages of what looks like a photocopy, he saw vague
but emphatic scene people, partially covered with a sheet,
lying on the concrete. In the foreground, surrounded by
some people. He did not have to correct the paper - he
already knew - Alexandra! The second photo is affirmed.
Her face, kinda a little frightened, and the trail of years,
taken from the ID, looked directly at Vladimir. As if she,
along with the photocopies of "Newspaper Sombor"
whispers, "I'm sorry!" He managed yet, while his self-
control not canceled, and he began to sob, shaking and
survives hysterical tremors, to read from the document that
is "forbidden Alexandra (55), professor of Negotina in 02
hours, 21 12th 2002, fell from the seventh floor of the hotel
"Freedom" in Sombor, and died on the spot. " He
remembered, quite posletoga, burglary of sorrow and
anger that the fate of her have to, Out of older and cruel, to
remove from life. But, He did not remember that he cried
for hours, then whispered, then again crying for help and
asked: Why are you apologizing to me. I am to blame for
everything that has happened to us in life. Then he was
struck dumb. He stared at the remaining two documents:
Police report that is supposed to be a suicide, and a copy
e-mails from her laptop, which Miroslav Davidovic, with an
apology, stating that there will be an agreed celebrate the
new 2003rd year! Mail was classified as Detroit. In the
weeks after that, Vladimir's body has ceased to enjoy the
summer heat, and it sunsets there over the Tisza, do not
disturb. What had to happen - it happened. He felt that he
may now regret them. First and last - Petar. Their son.
Whom's death these women, Vladimir's ex-girlfriend, his
mother, wife, that because of their meaningless life
strategy has not seen for nearly twenty years, and finally
leads to the same tragic fate of the plane all those
canceled his omission. Can pointless and selfish and
rhetorically ask yourself - what would happen if Miroslav,
younger son of Alexandrina, and Davidovic, not over the
internet - email, canceled his visit to Sombor. To spend
New Year's Eve with his mother?
The only thing that is not changed, it was his
decision to go to a psychiatrist. While the days of delaying
the implementation of the imagined, occasionally thinking
about how that was his second son, Alexandra, who won
this with Davidovic, gave the name he carries - Miroslav?
However, the psychiatrist is inevitable because the
professionalism and efficiency of the priest does not
believe.


chapter
Thirty-one

VLADIMIR'S INABILITY TO COPE WITH
LIFE OUTSIDE THE BUS

The novelist is quite expected faces crumbling personal
life and the book he wrote almost complete. On the way
Bekerek - Novi Sad. And the apartment on West
Boulevard. Year of the 2004th

While driving the car from Novi Sad to Beckerek
Miroslav life is condensed in the baffling indifference. In
that state of the soul, which usually occurs when the
person no longer has the strength to react to unpleasant
circumstances that he constantly bombarded? The wars in
which Serbia those allegedly involved, personal accident, a
family that is fully crowned, everything was finally going to.
A drop cannot find a place to rear!
In the car he borrowed from a friend, it was an old Fiat's
model, the hearing was set to maximum, and Miroslav
does not manage to reduce it. That's why he stopped at
the first widening the road, somewhere near the turnoff to
the village urevo. He got out of the car and took a deep
breath dank autumn air. That change the environment,
rather than a stuffy room in the car he found himself in the
middle of the plains, now emptied of people, caused a
better mood. Between heaven and earth in a second, he
was alone. And free. Instead thinks the sorrows that assail
him, he wandered in his novel - the story of the
disintegration of Yugoslavia, his unusual relationship, both
personal and literary, with troubled emigrant Peter
Davidovic. Finally, the novel that is almost at the end, it is
infected and thinking about the strange fate of the German
theorist and philosopher Walter Benjamin.
While moving away from the road, something no real
purpose, just wondering as to get out of reality to come
back to your world. Afterwards, remembers talking with a
friend Blueberry last nights. This is it, all the time dinner in
the television restaurant, eating some omelet and a salad
of beet-root, persuaded as Walter Benjamin, the real one
and not the novel by Vladimirs, but the character and the
man are very similar, actually been the victim of Stalin's
obsession with that in Europe and the world persecute and
kill intellectuals who dared to expose what he did from the
original socialism. He is a lieutenant , noisy and eager as
any of the Soviet writers , philosophers , and from that
time, the intellectual soul is sold , or at least a coward and
a wretch blackmailed , Soviet dictator and executioner ,
compiled lists of " traitors " and ruthless leader of the
assassins sent to cruising Europe and the world pay them
killed like dogs ! So Benjamin and killed in the Spanish one
village. Then followed the elaboration: A few months
before he died, Benjamin wrote Theses on the Philosophy
of History, one of the most insightful analyses of the failure
of Marxism ever produced. He died at a time when many
former Soviet loyalists becoming disillusioned with Moscow
because of the Hitler-Stalin pact. In response Stalinist
agents, often recruited from socialist intellectuals - were
carrying out assassinations.
Coming back, quite muddy shoes, in the driveway, in that
moment just passed the same bus that he drives more
decades to and from work, my ears rang again Lieutenant
Blueberry sentence - I would not be surprised if he is
involved in these proceedings, and Maxim Gorky! Vladimir,
however, believed that this rumor still under- motivated.
The bus went by and the writer felt some discomfort in his
chest - as if down the highway, with the external bus and
left part of his life and body. No matter what the tomorrow
intended to travel over that same bus, he suspected that
after today, nothing will be the same. He saw himself in a
fog, totally separated from the machine that is his year
transported through public life. As he is at that moment
touched a finger of fate. In that Miroslav until then, did not
believe.
Arrives in the early afternoon to his apartment on West
Boulevard. In Bekerek city such that too adds all the
boredom native plains in you. As soon as he entered the
apartment he turns the TV. Moving into the kitchen. There
a few minutes to the microwave oven - not hungry but it
has a habit to eat dinner. In the evening rituals, first start
the computer. From the screen starts to come internet a
daily dose , advertising and other generally useless things
without that , knows this well , the current day cannot come
to an end . Then he heard the distinctive sound that warns
him that the meal warmed up. At the same moment he
heard the signal email. With TV it sounds loud
announcements central Chronicles. The next time his cell
phone rings. Vladimirs apartment, in the moment, be
overwhelmed full of banal but loud alarm calls and
warnings. He's ironic thought - would only be this close to
him and accrual ! Since that did not happen, the writer /
journalist decided to first rein in the mobile connection. On
the other hand, from electronic phone came the voice of a
friend, whom he repeatedly called Lieutenant Blueberry:
Listen, Michael, (this is usually when alone, Miroslav
addressed Miroslav), I sent you an email, in an attachment,
three reactions to the text of your novel, to the part that I
accidentally sent in the "Observer". I told you that I the
passage, it was "Try anthropology in Port Bou",
accidentally sent them when I sent those texts on Italian
and Spanish gangster who gather in Rimini your ex
Davidovic, or Balducci. Do not worry, they praise you.
They even have suggestions on how to top up the story
about how he killed Benjamin. Talk to you when you read
them. Answer. Of course, when you sober up, because
goes the weekend. Hello legend!
Vladimir sits down to dinner. In his apartment suddenly
moved in silence. Although there is no front mirror itself is
convinced that the sight he saw was the same to that of
the Sofia, a long time ago, he found that dinner alone. This
time he alone eats an evening meal while Sofia anywhere
else not eats dinner.
His wife, Sophia does not live more in this area. However,
as the air is still covered in her inconspicuous but gentle
personality. Of the other females, thinks Vladimir, in this
apartment was just Asja Lacis, Bolshevik actress, girlfriend
art theorist and philosopher Benjamin. That Walter
Benjamin, who became part of his novel. They were
together for a visit during the night that is hard to test
content. With them was almost mysterious and almost
translucent creature Angelus Novus, who is Benjamin,
received from Paul Klee. They are, at the end of this
session, back to extensive literature and history, while in
Sofia is not sure where she went. Alexandra Andrejevic
has never been in this apartment. Neither in reality nor in a
dream. Perhaps only in the imagination. Only when
everything calmed down "ghosts" of past time with you and
in an empty house on West Boulevard, decided to check e-
mail. He first reads the email sent to him by a friend of
Blueberry. In title says Costa Brava, 18 September 2007.
It then takes the following text, which Miroslav for the
moment skip to the end and leave written to see who
signed the e-mail. Read, not too surprised, and though
pleasantly excited by - who you are in the article named
Diego Forlan, and is actually called De La Belay Pedro. In
his mind arrives at the same time the idea - it's the
journalist from Cerbere or Perpignan. A Spanish journalist
writes the following:
In London magazine "Observer", I read some time
ago, your article "The narrowing of the broader picture, in
Port Bou," which I suppose is part of a book, a novel or
travelogue, written by you or even writes. I think the article
from "The Observer" largely consistent with what we
discussed that day in a pub in Peprpignan, and the reason
I am writing to you not desire to fix anything. I would,
however, like you to meet some of my thoughts related to
those ancient actors and unpleasant events. Ali, first, a few
words about some of the knowledge that I have obtained,
driven by your research.
After much asking around, sniffing and consultations with
specialists in internal medicine, I have come to the
conclusion is actually Benjamin end to it dose funds
tranquilizers, which caused him early in the morning,
injected local doctor. The question is whether the doctor
knew that Walter was the night took a higher dose of
morphine.
To him, however, must be reported to the woman -
Gurland, who called the doctor. However, it cannot be a
reason or justification that a medical report on the death of
a completely omitted the fact that the body of a German
writer there stings from the injection of sedatives, and in
stomach a considerable amount of morphine. Thus, the
local doctor did it to cover up his mistake or he may have
been part of some of the latent conspiracy, which aimed to
money or gold that Benjamin had with him, or the infamous
briefcase with last handwriting this philosopher.
Given that, the doctor, to wider plan this literary-
political-criminal stories, irrelevant facts, local do-nothing or
a mere mercenary, who got eventually a little money,
remains needing to expand understanding the role
mysterious Henny Gurland, German woman of Jewish
origin, who, with the address it receives from Benjamin,
came to America, with Valter friends Adler and Fromm.
Even for this second marriage! This lady has had a special
talent for men, especially those older intellectuals.
Unremarkable beautiful, determined, persistent it is
brought to conquer and dazzle people. I'm not saying that
she participated in the murder of Benjamin, but I am
convinced that it knew how to skillfully in the tragedy
protect your interest. And to wait for marriage to Erich
Fromm, who is expected to host Writers of America. What
he failed to arrive because he was killed by a combination
of interest, war psychosis, politics and poor health. But
naivety. Ms. Gurland is therefore unconscionable following
their interests and motivations, easily exceeded through
the Writers' destinies and lives. Is directly defiled their
hands with money, drugs, or lies, or just omission speed
up the process, the more it does not matter.
But what else is going on, illegal or criminal, in
which sidelined Hotel "France"? There, we know, was
much dross, political and other outlaws, uniformed or
plainclothes fascist. It was there and undercover
Republicans who mostly kept quiet and waited to see how
the military and political situation in Catalonia will. But in
hotel staying and smugglers and traffickers. Spanish and
French. The novelty in this war story is that in the France
waiting for an opportunity to escape to America or
Australia, and a group of smugglers, black marketers
German- Austrian- Jewish descent. There were some
families Berman, who was trying to bribery of government,
police, Nazis - which anyone who had any power, are
allowed to leave Port Bou. They had gold coins for it, but
as certainly fraudsters trying to increase their wealth at.
How? With the help of fraud, theft and blackmail. It
is written that those Berman milled around and Walter
Benjamin. They knew and Henny Gurland. Benjamin was
probably misled and Gurland plotted with dishonest plans.
Benjamin's briefcase, from which he not separated, it was
certainly of concern they not him believed that it
contained only his manuscripts. Imagined that it was full of
gold or valuables. On the night he died, the bag was gone.
Probably, when Berman's sure it's just full of manuscripts,
dumped in garbage or a nearby hole. Henny got what it
wanted from Benjamin - U.S. addresses his acquaintances
Adorno and Fromm. Berman's losing their prey.
The only question the doctor. I personally think that
he was just lying to cover up his mistake and
incompetence. In the chaos that ruled this part of Spain,
and of Catalonia, especially in Port Bou, hard to get a
different story could happen. What the press wrote about
America that Benjamin killed by an assassin Stalin is
exciting and interesting, but most likely unfounded.

Dear Mr. Vladimir
With the desire to make a novel about Walter Benjamin to
be read, I suggest you think about this and what I wrote.
P.S. I think that this text to send the magazine "Observer."
This can be useful for promoting your future books.

Your De La Belle Pedro or "Diego Forlan."...

When Vladimir finished reading the email from
Spain, but it was midnight. A Writer Novel of Benjamin and
losers from the epoch of the collapse of Yugoslavia did not
have more mental strength in himself to respond to the
echoes of his writing. He sank an in something dull and
gelatinous. No idea where to continue tomorrow morning
life.

Chapter
Thirty-two

ETERNAL BUS

Highway Bekerek - Novi Sad. Novi Sad. Bekerek. 2004.
Intercity bus still runs. Vladimir life changed that everything
would remain the same.


Miroslav saw that dog again. Urban wanderer.
Morning walkers. Which entails the mental balloon in that
periodically Vladimir incident? Or hide in it. The first - dog,
actually waking up, then balloon layer, a protective
bandage. It looks like the imaginary balloon that reminds
him to medical sock that its elasticity can protect against
external influences. Dog this time it was dark, unlike the
previous impressions when presented with a yellow, woolly
coat. However, regardless of a different color, probably the
kind of journalist knows it is the same creature. It was his
very intimate; it could be a literary fantasy. That occurs in
the morning space as a symbolic sign. It is rotating
graphite against a uniform reality morning on the
Boulevard. That occurs, who knows where. In addition,
why? Just before Vladimir one-hour trip to newspaper
offices, which is in Novi Sad? Because, again, thinking,
how your foot in the sock, or a man in the denture,
however troubling, causing inconvenience, especially when
reciting the English poetry of the twentieth century. Which
has a kind of grayness of Serbia in early spring? While
crossing the street, Boulevard, outside the pedestrian
crossing, in the short interval between two trucks, is aware
that he has just faced with atypical Joyces syndrome
dissolution of the polyphony of the banal, religious and
mythical. What the dog is part of urban mythology. As part
of the demimonde appears and figure mentioned
Karamati. In the coffee shop. Of course, and that
disabled person, who is a welder - Poncho? While
Overpass still hangs on his e back. Miroslav almost loudly
says T. S. Eliot:

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

Those who hear you muttering in English, without
insight into the existence of dogs, balloons and yards that
are within the wall, is unlikely to have an understanding of
the ritual for his brushes on the banal. Which includes a
multitude of sensations? Whose foundation largely on and
subject to all sorts, and it is difficult to prove, touches of
time, emotions and thoughts. As in the famous poem
named '' The Waste Land ''. Which Miroslav serves as a
vaccine? For April knows, really, that is a cruel month ...
While he just stares at the bus station. For a moment move
his wasteland. So, Benjamin rescue of longing, inner
darkness home library. As in his poem, Eliot recalls Mark
Antony. As well as Julius Caesar. Assassin Brutus,
however, does not.
His, Vladimir, in an attempt last week to the Castle
in Ecka on new anti-banal ceremonies, ended in peaceful
resistance to the coast Begej, which has already long
ceased to be the scene of the film about the Trojan War.
However, the castle is also known for making a film about
the Trojan horse, which is false. His trip to the castle was
only foiled replica of what Arsen olak in '' Romeo and
Juliet long established as a pattern of unconventionality.
Nevertheless, it is not enough mystify. Colak, as abstinent
from Yogurt revolution where it is not included because of
the many before them was a real anarchist, but not a
prisoner of Vidovdan`s euphoria. Of course that is the only
old cry of Vladimir could not that re five. Without Arsen, no
matter what the conceptual and virtually everything created
in the community with some actors ''Beckerek early work'',
with filmmaker and painter, whom death seems
achievable. John John
40
was only partly present these
Beckereks works. Because of this, Vladimir and did not
ask for his help in the reconstruction of dreams and
waking.
Miroslav is still in the bus. Just on that bus that
follows him all the time. One who has tried to him? All have
the same taste as before. One year, two, three. Although

40
This one poet becomes important in the Becskerek-Zrenjanin art
scene until after closing a turbulent period called "Zrenjanin early
works." John John appears as the mediocre follower of poetry Todor
Manojlovic.
everything is different. Most travelers have changed. A
large group of young people. With headset Mobile Phones
that emit an enormous amount of SMS messages. It all
sounds like the great cloud of unprovoked superficial
dynamics. Like the energy that flows in vain. That itself
void because it is meaningless. While me fears quantity of
not obliging. Vladimir states that up and smell the bus
repaired. It's now almost saturated with fashionable
branded scents. Although the term in which travel more.
The journalist is no longer in the morning bus. Which still
occasionally has a sour smell? Which is stronger than
deodorant. Photography problematic national war hero is
still on the bulkhead behind the driver's head. Perhaps
reluctantly masked still exists, because the driver's facial
expression the same. Especially when referred to a
national theme. Conductress - more rounded. Instead of
the dissolved hair - now has a chignon. Thinking Miroslav -
certainly has a younger man than myself! On the bridge
close to Zabalj still standing wreaths, candles and any
other things as reminders to long ago accident. When a
bus fell off a bridge into the river Tisza. A river dragged
passengers in its turbid depths. This one bus, however,
with Vladimir in it, passing safely by the place that tragic
accident. And returns are safe.
Vladimir read over Benjamin's Moscow Diary''.
Only now he noticed a Walter's strong sense of to describe
the geography of the Great Russian town. Moreover, he is
precise and in topography and the psychology of the
Russian capital. It is notable, too, that Benjamin does not
want to
In this diary referred to tossed with any unnecessary
erudition. As it was his intention. He tries to be
unpretentious in environment of ideology and political
euphoria. In this book, he is not a philosopher. No essay
style. Only psychology obsessed souls. As if he needed to
Moscow conjure inside to paint it with words. In fact, that
this city in detail, with the hyperrealism and called and
displayed. As if the entire intellectual experience recoiled
the uncontrollable desire for Lithuanian. It was a daily
craving in expectation that it happens something
reversible. Not as erotic and sexual. Benjamin is in the
trap, which he himself created him. Miroslav was not sure
that Walter in his infatuation knows that this Lithuanian and
female. It is almost an idea. It was the thought and idea of
a woman who, on the whole, was beside him but
unattainable. Everything in this book is Asja Lacis
subordinated. That is between husband, Brechtian
Theatre, communism and his own illnesses. Psyche. To
her was even born daughter in the third level! But
something in her personality tends to dominate. Vladimir
does not manage to figure out what it is. However, as
Benjamin does not even know how its supreme mind to
notice it. Their children are remembered only when they
see toys in the window. With guilt. In the jaws of
Communism. What will him, to embrace with fascism, to
swallow? Just him, Walter Benjamin, who travel, although
long dead, every day, without their own purposes, hidden
in the soul and conscience Vladimir's. They drive the two of
them, one of the world's great men and a local figure with a
long-distance bus, in the country of Serbia. But, he
perhaps and this Serbian writer learn telepathy.
The journalist, Vladimir, and it conclude, as if
watching himself in along with Davidovic describes his own
life. Who else is happening? Sofia has long sleep.
Alexandra jumped from the fifth floor of a building. Alleged
Vinogradov, in a book he wrote instead of him Vladimir, in
this false Baedecker - Apocrypha, vegetate and meditation,
conscious of its role Trojan horse planted in the University
Library of the Serbian capital. Only Davidovic, alias
Balducci, remains indestructible. What seems to have
three lives! Because it does not intend to Bluberi
eliminated. Cancellation is only looming over Milan
Blanusa, also figure in the former Yugoslavia, which works
with Balducci and other criminals in charge of the
liquidation. For the plotting, to harm the younger
counterpart Lieutenant Vladimir, but somehow knows!
Walter wrote, somewhere in time after Capri, as with
suspects future events - Asja is drilled a one-way street
through my heart! That statement, which resembles the
recognition hopelessness of his love, to contain the
knowledge that when he returned, with or without him, will
not be happiness and salvation. He has to go from being in
love with you was completely sunk. For a street that has no
direction for the refund taken, which is even numbers are
not reflected in the ad, which is not replaced with Jing
Yang, only takes people to light in the infinite loneliness.
By Benjamin met in Port Bou. Do you like Illumination?
The bus, faster in the departure, slower the return,
and still have his music. Psychology, enclosed space that
moving. Moreover, sometimes space-bus returns still
polluted. Have this carrier and the exposed micro-politics.
In which these days dominated by a questioning: why
police had not arrested those killer Serbian prime minister
just days before they committed the crime. Perhaps
because of the alleged legality, legitimacy wrong, the
apparent inability of warped legality of false morality or
madness, Inertia and alienation. The driver, who keeps a
picture of anti-hero barely sidelined, has a theory that falls
within the sphere of international conspiracy. In his life,
nothing has changed. Although is the lives of many people
at the same moment, stopped again. He continues, over
Radio on the bus, plays folk singers Ceca, Baja and
Dragana, folk musician. The teacher who works in abalj
still leaves the bus at their disposal crosses roads. He went
out as usual - in the rain, as the sunny days this fall was
pure rare. Vladimir at the bus station in Novi Sad, bought
newspapers, ''Politica'' in which states that the South
African writer J. M. Coetzee (John Maxwell Coetzee)
received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2003 year. Also
writes: ''A few thousand people, led by "Resistance" were
marking the fifth anniversary of October.
At the end of working hours, meet Vladimir Miroslav
and Lieutenant Blueberry. They decide to end the interview
in the publication of e-newspapers and on Balduci
Company. The lieutenant, however, intends to kill feuilleton
hero named Blanche or Blanua. In the semi-fictional story,
he will kill a notorious Bulgarian-Czech drug dealer. While
the Balduci, which has grown from Davidovic, as there is
no good solution. Because of him, whether he likes it or
not, the responsibility rests solely with the writer-journalist
Vladimir. Which has again changed his position on this Co
century?
A Bus to Bekerek went from Novi Sad in 15:18.
Young people with mobile phones and iPods was not in it.
They will only back on Friday. Vladimir, before it is late for
that bus, in a bookstore, who works at the train station,
bought a new collection of poems, 'his fellow John John
"Town views Obscure." He was reading Songs up to 17:30,
when the caught next bus. In which he immediately fell
asleep and all the way to the Tisza River dreamed in his
childhood backyard is no more wall. Now it will fly off. No
fear. He dreams while book of poems of John John,
associated in a real company Walter Benjamins Moscow
Diary, on the seat no. 40 Intercity buses.








ABOUT THE AUTHOR




Zoran Slavic (ZORAN Slavi) (1945, Zrenjanin. Serbian)

Born in Zrenjanin. In Banat and Vojvodina. Serbian citizen.
He graduated the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade. He
writes poetry, fiction, literary, theater and art criticism and
journalism. Author of many different genres of television
projects. Reflected in the form of radio drama. Worked in
publishing. Longstanding culture editor of TV Novi Sad.
Lives in Zrenjanin. He graduated from the Yugoslav and
world literature for Faculty of Philology in Belgrade.
He has published the following books:
Short story:
'' Solitude'' (1972) '' Fire in the bottom of the summer''
(2007)
Novels:
''Jump to insomnia'' (1985),'' The time bites" (1998),'' Back
to the solitude'' (2000) and '' Walter Benjamin in intercity
bus'' (2011).
Poetic books:
'' Illusion'' of silver (1974), '' RINSE OWN HOMELAND
(1982),'' COVERED WITH HISTORY (1995), '' Rise of the
images' '(1996),'' GETTING OUT OF THE PAINTING''
(1997),'' Disturbed balance" (1998) and '' A hundred years
later
(2004),
A BOOK OF ESSAYS " WRITING AGAINST OBLIVION''
published in 2005. Currently preparing for the Amazon
Kindle two books, travel writing, "My European part of the
world" and the story collection "The fire is the bottom of the
summer," which, in Serbian, already sold on Amazon.
As E-books, books in electronic form so far published the
following articles:''
MOMENT OF AND EXIT OF (poetry), '' Zrenjanin early
works (essays),'' Zrenjanin. TOWN SPACE IN TIME'' (visual
essays (,'''' Six theater festivals (Essays on Theatre),''
flowed'' weeks (log prose), and'' Diary of Vojvodina 61st
festival Theatre and a record of Kolumbina'' (recordings of
theater) '' My European part of the world'' (travels). In
"Amazon's" Kindle edition published the book "Leaving the
picture," verses, "MY EUROPEAN PART OF THE
WORLD," travel writing, FIRE IS BOTTOM OF SUMMER,
short stories and a book of songs " VIEW FROM THE
WINDOW CURRENTLY NOT WORKING"


Daily records, surveys essays, travel stories, poetry
published on his Facebook account:
https://www.facebook.com/zoran.slavic
My mail is zoranslavic@yahoo.com