THE LAKESIDE HOLIDAY
Selma and I were really
impressed with the house. It was almost on the lakefront.
The lake was tiny, but beautiful, all surrounded in forest,
without any signs of civilization. Our house was in the thick
forest, some fifty yards from the lake. It was a nice four-bedroom
holiday mansion. At least it looked like that too us, another
proof that Linda had some really powerful friends.
"How did you manage this without blowing your cover?"
I didn't understand.
"I asked a friend, Douglas Ball, to ask Thère
Du Pont to let his friends stay for a while. So, the owner
of the house has no idea it was me. They're never here anyway
and I knew where the keys were. They just had to say that
it's OK for us to stay, and they did. So voilà - enjoy!"
"Zoki, Zoki, there is outdoor Jacuzzi overlooking the
lake." Selma was really excited.
"Nice, really nice." I really liked it too.
"Guys, I know that I was a bit of a pain over the last
month, so this is a little token of my appreciation."
Linda had the attitude and the voice of a boss at a corporate
Christmas party. She was clearly showing who was in charge.
"This is really nice, Linda." Selma was really excited
by everything. "This is our first holiday in… ten years!
Zoki, can't be ten years?"
I was counting for a moment. "True, we went to Makarska
in 1991, just before the war."
"And it is not because we didn't travel, but we just
didn't stop working for years. We didn't have break,"
Selma said.
"I understand, and you've done impressively well in America,
but there's more in front of you in Paris. Much more."
I smiled. "It was really time for us to get lucky for
all misfortunate events we went through."
"And you guys really got lucky. I know it's going to
be a long trip ahead of us, but there is an undeniable chance
of striking it big. I wouldn't be putting my own skin on the
line if I don't think we had a good chance of making it there."
"What will we be doing in France?" Selma was searching
for fuel to feed her daydreaming.
"Well, until you learn the language…"
"I speak French, mademoiselle."
"Votre Français n'est pas parfait ."15
"What?" Selma got slightly embarrassed. "I
did not quite understand you."
"That is all right. You will probably need some time
to refresh it. So in the meantime, I would say that the best
for Zoran would be to work as Microsoft's driver while you,
Selma, could work in their internal canteen or something similar."
"Canteen? How can that be better from what I was doing
before?"
"That's just the start for you guys. That was just the
first thing I could think of. If you have other ideas, just
let me know and I'll see if we can arrange something."
"I was more thinking like working in marketing."
Selma didn't want to let this opportunity go. She seemed to
be looking for some solid promises before she departed for
the second trip over the big pond.
"Listen, I don't manage Microsoft. I will do my best,
and they know that they owe you a lot. If they don't have
a suitable job for you, then you'll be reimbursed with enough
money so you don't have to think about it for a while."
"How much money?" Selma wasn't giving up easily.
"Please, Selma. Let's unpack first." Linda, unable
to conceal her impatience, turned to me for help.
"Aman ženo, šta si zapela. Cekaj malo da predahnemo,
pa cemo lako detalje,"16
I said, raising my voice slightly.
"Don't you shush me, Zoki. We finally settled down after
all these years. We have to leave our apartment and our kids
to save her ass, but she does not want to give us any promises.
And now we have to go across Atlantic Ocean and we still don't
know what we will have there."
"Oh, please, would you shut up!" I completely lost
it, but Linda wasn't going to remain silent.
"I've told you everything I can. "Linda was really
agitated. "Listen, you helped me a lot and I am grateful,
but I cannot give you any solid figures as I myself don't
know how much money I'll be getting. And the whole Paris thing
is just my way to say thank you. I don't need any of you there!
You can turn around and go back to your precious little apartment.
I don't care anymore!"
"It's all right, Linda. I will take care of this."
I tried calming things down, but Selma was not about to give
up.
"You don't know how much we will get. What is your share?
You surely know why you are in this game."
"Oh, please, Selma. I have my life at stake and you're
talking about money. Please get in that Jacuzzi, take a bath
and cool down," Linda said with resentment and walked
away.
"Ti baš hoceš sve da pokvariš? 17"
I shouted at Selma.
"Šta sam kazala što nisam trebala? 18"
"Ajd boga ti, šuti! 19"
***
"I can't believe
you're still alive." Daniel broke the brief silence in
the car.
"Why?"
"If you tried anything like that with the President of
the United States, you're destined for a massive failure."
Stating the obvious was like rubbing salt into my still fresh
wounds. He clearly couldn't drop it.
"Obviously I am alive."
"Clever bustard! You betrayed her!" Daniel smiled.
"No, I didn't."
Daniel was thinking about something. "You're right. I
can't see you betraying her, but the problem is, I can't see
you outsmarting the Secret Service."
"I wouldn't go that far."
"Well, if you blackmailed the President, there's no question
about it, you'd be on the hit list." Daniel drank some
more whisky and continued. "You obviously haven't heard
about how Helmut Kohl sold out all the BND's agents in Kosovo
to collect enough money for his election campaign. Just to
get funds for the bloody election. Those trained spies didn't
stand a chance. He sacrificed each and every one of them without
even thinking of the consequences. I can't begin to imagine
what Helmut's capable of in order to protect the level of
embarrassment you had planned for George Bush."
"What do you mean sold out?"
"They were eliminated by the Albanians that worked for
the CIA."
"Now you lost me."
"In the early nineties, the German secret service started
building a network of Albanian spies and 'sleepers' in Albania
and Kosovo because of their pretensions on the Balkans. However,
when the Americans discovered oil reserves deep under the
coal layer in Kosovo, a part of Serbia, they figured that
they could use the Albanian majority in the province to escalate
the conflict there to a level where they could put their troops
on that ground."
"Oil in Kosovo? Can't be truth. I knew there was lots
of coal, but nobody cares about it, but oil is different story."
"That's what satellites show. It's still not yet economically
feasible to explore, but that would soon become inevitable
when the oil price skyrockets through the roof. Even if we
were to move to alternative fuels in the future, we'll still
need oil for plastic, asphalt and other industrial materials."
Daniel paused "Where was I…?" He was struggling
again to keep focus. He started to sweat and his story went
on and on. He sounded like a Russian, having to explain everything
with his mind wandering, but that comprehensiveness was certainly
a critical advantage for the job he was doing.
"I don't know… You completely threw me with the oil story."
I couldn't remember how the story started.
"Ah, I know," Daniel remembered. "I was talking
about Kohl and the selling out of the secret agents. Well,
truth to be told, he just tried to get something back while
he still could. What happened was the CIA had become interested
in the area in southern Balkan and later staged the pyramid
scam crisis in Albania, which resulted in civil unrests, and
cultivated a quiet coup. And almost overnight, large numbers
of German agents simply disappeared there. But what you didn't
know was that after the first disappearance the Americans
approached Kohl and offered him a secret cash injection for
his election campaign in exchange for the list of BND agents
in Kosovo. And all of sudden, the same thing happened there
also. And not so surprising, in hindsight, guys like Hashim
Tachi and Dynacorp-trained Agim Cheku, who were good friends
of the Americans, became overnight rulers of Kosovo celebrating
with barefoot Dick Holbrook."
"My God."
"Yep, being a Serb, I thought this may be even more shocking
for you. But that's not all. The BND guys weren't happy, but
they couldn't do much, so instead they decided to disclose
Kohl's other dirty tricks like the buying of Elf, a French
petrol company where the CDU party's pockets got fatter again.
Well, it was more or less just a warning for Kohl."
"So they sacrificed their spies, just to get enough money
for election."
"'Just to get enough money for election'". Daniel
mimicked me demeaningly. "It's not 'just'. It's the most
important thing for any politician …Well, at least for those
who were facing the election. Don't forget President Clinton
did sell American military technology and other national secrets
to the Chinese in order to fund his 1996 election. Any politician
would do it. There are plenty of examples. Do you know why
Radovan Karadzic is still at large while his boss Milosevic
is in The Hague?"
"Miloševic wasn't his boss," I said angrily, showing
clearly that I still supported Karadžic. After all, Karadžic
was my president at one stage. But Daniel laughed.
"You are so naïve... I'm sorry I couldn't help myself.
But let's go back to the question: why Karadzic wasn't arrested."
"He must be hiding well."
"Oh Zoran, my Zoran! You're really putting some fun in
my dull little life. Hiding in Bosnia with thousands of NATO
soldiers. They wouldn't find him even if he was up their noses
and they were picking at it. The story is quite different.
When NATO started bombing Serbian troops in Bosnia, General
Mladic took French peacekeepers as hostages. They asked for
the bombing to be stopped and also demanded some sort of ransom
in the form of support for the refugees. The French prepared
the money, but also negotiated in secret with Radovan Karadzic,
who agreed to release the French peacekeepers in exchange
for his freedom of not having to defend himself in the war
crimes court in The Hague. Because the deal was made secretly,
President Chirac kept the money for his election campaign."
"Money and elections. It can't be essence of today's
politics."
"And what do you think is? And here you are telling me
all your exciting little stories and still not comprehending
what happened to you. Everything you've told me is nothing
unusual. I know that it must be hard for you, but I saw so
many people suffering for the same reason all over the world,
but much, much more."
"I already suffered in Bosnia, and now here."
"I understand, and even empathize with you, which doesn't
happen often. Probably because I usually don't get to meet
the victims of my actions, just first-class seats, presidential
suites and fine restaurants. But hey, somebody has to pay
for it. Somebody has to pay for elections. Somebody has to
pay for democracy. It's expensive merchandise. Ancient Greeks
had slaves. We had to invent something else. So, cheer up,
mister. Shit happens every second somewhere in the world.
At least you're still alive."
***
Linda asked me one morning.
"What is it like being an immigrant?"
"Well, maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, but I wasn't
really excited about my life in United States."
"Why was that?"
"It all depends on whether I came because I really wanted
to come to America, or whether I came because I was running
away from life back home, like I did … You know, to save my
life, like most refugees."
Linda just nodded, as I continued. "However, I would
say there are some commonalities between all migrants. I could
probably name three most important. First one is not that
bad. It's like being married."
"I don't understand."
"Probably because you've never been married before. But
when you get married, you don't see your friends or family
often."
"I see."
"Yes, you only have your wife, or as people say here
- 'partner' - to talk to and all the new friends."
"So, what are the bad things?"
"The second bad thing is overall lifestyle, culture,
small things you may miss."
"Like?"
"Doing daily shopping instead of weekly. Buying food
directly from farmers. Visiting friends without invitation
or going out with friends without comprehensive planning and
negotiations."
"Well, I doubt it'd be hard to get used to the French
café life and shops."
"You'll see. You will miss some sort of cereal, Oreos
or who knows which cookie you like and it is still not on
the list of global snacks available in every corner of Earth,
even in France."
"OK, and the third?"
"Language. It looks like an easy one, but it is the hardest."
"I speak some French."
"Speaking some language as tourist and living and working
in another country is completely different matter. It's not
easy. It's bloody hard. Although it is much easier for Americans
and other English speaking people…" I giggled.
Linda seemed puzzled so I continued. "France is about
the only country where you would be treated badly even if
you speak English. They don't really give a damn about it.
Actually, I think they will be really hostile. You'll see."
"I'll master my French."
"That's what I thought about my English, but the accent.
You can never get rid of it."
***
"You are so right
about the accent," Daniel empathized.
"Yours is pretty good."
"You're forgetting that I went as a kid to Africa, where
I was exposed to many languages, among them was English. I
simply lost any concept of accent as a sixteen-year-old kid.
Still, my accent is not perfect."
"It's good. But I couldn't fix mine. You know, I used
to read all spy novels. You know, Ian Flaming and Len Deighton…
Spies in those books always have perfect accent."
"Yes, but only in fiction. Real people never do. If you
move to another country after you're sixteen or seventeen,
you can never properly master another accent. But don't worry.
At least with English, there's no right accent. The language
has been so abused that whatever version you speak, it's OK
as long as people can understand you."
"Yes, you are right," I smiled.
"Also, the thing you said about food nostalgia is also
right."
"Well, it's getting easier with globalization. I am managing
to find Plazma and Smoki. My favorite Yugoslavian treats."
"Well, you must be lucky. I still miss Navettes biscuits
with my coffee every single day. You can find them only in
Marseille. Oh, God how I miss them. That's the biggest tyranny
of being a migrant. You're never really settled. There's always
a bit of you that wants to go back, that misses some people,
smells, landscapes from your homeland. It's really hard. And
the hardest bit is that even when you go back, you realize
that you no longer belong there either."
"I know exactly what you mean. Probably that's why I
was so excited about going back to Europe. It was closer to
home. At least that is how I saw it."
"Yes, that's why I am still in Europe. I've been in many
nice cities. I like Vancouver. I like Adelaide. But Monte
Carlo and Switzerland fit the bill much better. The other
places were only good for work. I didn't mind staying there
for a couple of months, enjoying fine food and South Australian
wines, which I must admit are better than French wines. But
I could never stay there forever. It's probably similar to
your stay in that lakeside house.
***
I was having a late-night
shower in the bathroom of the holiday shack Linda had brought
us to. It was getting chilly, so I turned on the electric
heater that was hanging on the wall. The bars lit up instantly,
burning the dust collected after months of not being used,
creating a characteristic smell - a smell that reminded me
of Sarajevo. It was amazing how some smells and songs acted
like time-travel machines throughout our nervous system. While
we could whistle a song at any time, smells could just magically
appear without any control. They can't be recreated in our
heads. But when they do magically come back, they bring with
them memories. This bathroom heater reminded me of the bathroom
in our apartment in Grbavica. It was crammed with a washing
machine and clotheslines running parallel over the bathtub,
but we were happy there.
In hindsight, it is interesting how some people saw socialist
life beyond imperfect, yet everybody had free access to hospitals
and dentists, free education and childcare, and we could occupy
government-owned apartments without any rent or mortgages.
There were no homeless people and the crime rate wasn't even
worth mentioning. We could afford a new car every six to ten
years that were similar to the other cars in the neighborhood.
In my case, it was a locally made Volkswagen Golf, but we
also had Renault, Opel and Citroën, who had their factories
all over Yugoslavia, not to mention the infamous Yugos, which
were Fiat clones that were renowned as the world's greatest
lemons. Beside locally built cars, we could also easily afford
family holidays on the beautiful Adriatic coast every year.
Actually, in the eighties, our standard of living was high
enough that we could afford to go to Greece or Spain. Come
wintertime, we could go to nearby ski-resorts for a week.
Not to mention annual shopping tradition of tours to Trieste
in Italy and Vienna. Our kids were happy when we brought them
Toblerone chocolate from a free shop or Coke in cans. It wasn't
that we didn't have Coke in every supermarket, but for some
reason kids really liked the cans. Or they were just easily
amused and satisfied.
For New Year's, which was the communist equivalent of Christmas,
gifts would be a Barbie doll or a Commodore 64 computer with
a mandatory joystick, from München 20.
The best thing about it all, however, was the fact that we
didn't have to work like mad to afford that lifestyle. Some
people would say it wasn't sustainable, but it managed to
last for almost forty years.
Despite my nostalgic Socialist European life, at the time
and probably still, we all look to America as the best place
on Earth and we all wanted to move there. The America that
was represented in movies, where ninety percent of ladies
worked part time as interior decorators, while their husbands
were offered yet another promotion as a senior or perhaps
even a partner of some marketing agency, was enticingly broadcasted
to us - an American dream that unfortunately exists only in
Hollywood movies. It was quite obvious when we moved that
we had done so at a loss. I remember all the Yugoslav expatriates
I met here were cursing America and making plans for when
and how to return to Bosnia, where life was nice and easy.
Unfortunately, what they longed for was a Bosnia and Yugoslavia
in the eighties that didn't exist anymore, but is now war
torn and destroyed by globalization, which killed many good
old habits and rarely produced good new ones.
Bloody bathroom heater... Ahhh... The smell of that warm and
cozy bathroom in Sarajevo…
***
15 - Your French
is still not perfect.
16 - Oh, please don't bother her anymore.
Give her a break. We'll talk later about that.
17 - Are you trying to spoil everything?
18 - What did I say wrong?
19 - Would you shut up!
20 - Munich.
