Zlata’s Diary: Monday, May 3, 1993–Epilogue

This may be referring to the “h” once given to certain local Turkish and other words and pronunciation, and later dropped from usage.

And you know what it was, Mimmy? A tiny little mouse. So small that I barely recognized it for what it was. He ran under the built-in bookcase in the niche by the wall.

Cici was waiting in ambush.

And now for an amazing piece of news. Nedo is leaving Sarajevo (temporarily). He’s going to either Zagreb or Split. Since he works for UNPROFOR he’s entitled to annual leave.

The tomcat started strutting over to her.

Cici has taken to us and keeps coming. But the tomcat doesn’t. He’s vain, but she keeps calling him, meowing for him, she can’t sleep at night, she wants to go out.

Let me tell you that breakfast, lunch and dinner were all uncooked because the gas went off yesterday. And as you know, we have no electricity either, so we’re all on the verge of suicide.

Cici calmed down after taking that aspirin, but the tomcat still hasn’t come back. What a rude tomcat. First he seduces her and then he drops her. That’s really not fair.

I didn’t go to school today because I can’t stand on my foot, so I’m lying down. I can’t stand and I can’t walk. Compresses. Lasonil cream, I suppose I’ll survive.

I’ve been thinking about Nedo leaving. I keep telling myself “Oh, he won’t go,” but then I sober up and I feel bad, so bad.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, someone is using the ugly powers of war, which horrify me, to try to pull and drag me away from the shores of peace, from the happiness of wonderful friendships, playing and love.

All these journalists got me muddled and I forgot to tell you that school is over (July 4, 1993).

Yesterday I heard some optimistic news.

Because, I know there is no electricity, no water, no food, that people keep getting killed, that we no longer have even candles, that smuggling and crime are rife, that the days are getting shorter and soon it will be what the whole of Sarajevo fears most: WINTER.

The mere thought of it gives me the chills.

Did I tell you, Mimmy, that Kenan (Melica’s son) is in the hospital? Wait, wait, no, he’s not wounded. There’s no injury. He’s sick. He has jaundice.

Auntie Boda and Alemka made the rest, whatever you can make in these wartime conditions—sandwiches, little rolls, a savory pie (a little rice, a little mangel and you’ve got yourself a good pie)...

Yes, but we’re learning to steel ourselves, this war is teaching us, and we’re slowly suppressing everything that hurts us.

I went with Alexandra to the old Sarajevo library, the Vjecnica. Generations and generations of people enriched their knowledge by reading and leafing through its countless books.

The Vjecnica was such a treasure trove.

I brought home a piece of brick and a fragment of metal as a memento of that treasure-house of friends.

Mommy and I went to attend the “solemn act of marriage between Samra Kozaric and Zijad Pehid,” as the registrar would say.

Mommy and I went to attend the “solemn act of marriage between Samra Kozaric and Zijad Pehid,” as the registrar would say.

Afterward everybody went to lunch at the Premier, and Mommy and I went home to our MISHMASH, but it was a good “mishmash,” a good one.

Slobo’s condition is deteriorating and he’s been moved to the Military Hospital in Belgrade.

The first day of the new school year. I’m starting seventh grade. New subjects, new knowledge, new obligations, new school days, but I don’t feel the way I used to. It’s probably the war again.

There, that’s part of Nedo’s letter, which I keep on my desk. I keep rereading it. I’m going to learn it by heart like all the others. And so Nedo’s letter will join my “war archive.”

With all the disappointments I’ve had with previous truces and signatures, I can’t believe it.

I keep thinking about Sarajevo, and the more I think about it, the more it seems to me that Sarajevo is slowly ceasing to be what it was.

The electricity is back, but it’s being rationed. And the rationing, like the life we’re living, is stupid. We get four hours of electricity every fifty-six hours.

Every time Mommy says: “If we’re not going to have electricity, then let’s not have any at all. That way I don’t worry. This is unbearable.”

We waited for September 27 and 28. The 27th was the Assembly of Bosnian Intellectuals, and the 28th was the session of the B-H Parliament. And the result is “conditional acceptance of the Geneva agreement.”

Souk-bunar fared the worst. I don’t know how Melica is. They say that half the houses up there are gone.

After the airport, we were driven to the Cercle National des Armees hotel. Then a SHOWER, WATER, TUB, HOT WATER, COLD WATER, SHAMPOO, SHOWER. Bliss!

When even just some of this light illuminates the darkness of Sarajevo, then it will be my light as well.