70 / 208
70
motorway path eventually helped me to sleep and, when I
woke, it was dawn and our truck was parked in front of
Belgrade’s Bristol Hotel.
5
Now I stood before the apartment building where,
according to Dusha, General Borojević had last lived. It
was typical socialist architecture; a large cube of the sort
found all over the former Yugoslavia which, despite its
lack of grace and cheap materials, for some reason
inspired a sense of pride in me, for its opaque view of
architecture and, through it, life. As I entered, a familiar
smell greeted me. I had the impression that I had once
been to a similar place, but I couldn’t recall where or
when, and at that moment I didn’t have time for
nostalgia. I reasoned that a war criminal at large wouldn’t
use his real name, and so I had to search for other traces
of his presence.
The building was arranged with two apartments on each
floor. From the Korač family apartment on the second
floor, all the way to the entrance, I could hear children’s
voices. On the doormat before the Mitrović’s door, sat a
pair of patent-leather shoes far too small to be Nedelko’s.