Trafika Europe 5 - Slovenian Interlude

In the evening, the phone rang and father informed us, with a voice like a TV newscaster, that the army truck would be in front of the shop in ten minutes, and we should begin carrying things outside. At that same moment, my mother burst into tears. Father tried to hug her and lean her head on his shoulder, like he had the time they informed her that her cousin, Gregor, had been killed in a car crash. But now she just pushed him away, grabbed the largest suitcase in the hall, and started dragging it toward the door, all by herself. Father tried to rip it out of her hands, and kept saying that it was too heavy, and that she shouldn’t be so stubborn, but mother carried it down the stairs and out to the front of the apartment building, and even to the parking lot in front of the shop, where she finally dropped it, exhausted, so that it struck the ground with a loud thud. Then she sat on it and cried some more, while my slightly confused father carried the remaining things out by himself, telling me to stay with mother in case she needed anything. It wasn’t too long before our neighbour, Enisa, appeared in front of the shop. Whatever the hour, she kept constant watch for what was happening in front of her house. This time, she ran out to say goodbye to us, wearing only a bathrobe and her husband’s shoes. My father tried to tell her that we’d be back soon, but Enisa just nodded and repeated, ‘May luck travel with you, stay healthy and happy wherever you may be!’ Then she kissed me on both cheeks and my forehead, told me to be

59