72 / 208
72
here anymore, and intended to lean my head against the
soundless door when, suddenly, the flower-decked door
across the way swung open and someone peeked into the
hallway.
‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Good afternoon. I’m looking for a gentleman who lives
here. I don’t know his name.’
Mrs. Babić eyed me suspiciously, as if I was there to take
drugs on her doormat, or rip the petals off her begonias.
‘The gentleman forgot his wallet at the bar across the
street, and it doesn’t have any documents in it. I just
wanted to return it to him.’
‘Tomislav Zdravković hasn’t lived here for almost three
years.’
I nodded, but Mrs. Babić intercepted my sceptical
sidelong glance at the newspapers lying on the doormat.
‘A boy used to leave newspapers for Mr. Zdravković. I’ve
been trying to catch him for the last three years to tell
him he’d moved away, but he always comes at the
strangest hours. So I read them and throw them away. So
they don’t gather dust.’