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they didn’t know who they belonged to. I don’t know
what the situation will be like elsewhere, and when I’ll
be able to get in touch again. But I will get in touch.
Believe me. I hope you’re all fine. You and V. I left the
house last night after seven days, and went to the
farmer’s market and a shop. I had a cold for the last few
days and I took some pills for my immune system, and
I’m better now. So you needn’t worry. I don’t have a sore
throat anymore, and I’m okay. I read in the newspaper
that everything is more expensive in your country, since
it adopted the euro. It would be the same here, if it is
ever adopted. Here things are more expensive even
without the euro. But for now I’m just fine. I also read
about Bojan Križaj. It said he worked in Japan.
Either Tomislav Zdravković found whatever point he
planned to make about Bojan Križaj and Japan of
sufficient importance to end the letter, or more likely he
never got around to finishing it. Nedelko Borojević was
never a particularly literate man, and the very fact that
Tomislav Zdravković wrote letters was enough to impress
me. But at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less. I was
preoccupied by something else in the letter. Aside from the
name of Križaj, the famous skier, my name and my ‘darling’
mother’s, there was someone else mentioned in the letter,
someone my mother must know about. I stood up, eyes
still focused on the unfinished letter, as if more words
might sprout if I stared hard enough.
‘Find anything of interest?’