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Faruk Šehić
God disposes,’ she would tell
us.
Imagine me now very small
– so small that Mirdal Terzić
can carry me in the straw
shopping bag that smells of
fresh bread and milk to my
Grandmother’s house in the
suburb of Pazardžik. The
first stop on our way was in
Žitarnica, where we played
badminton. Or rather, Mirdal
played badminton with his
friends, who were the same
age as him, and I chased
after a fat bumblebee, trying
to swipe it with my racket-
rocket and launch it into
space.
Workmen were demolishing
an old house on the hill
overlooking Žitarnica and
throwing roof beams down
through the trees that had
seeded at the edge of the cliff.
The beams broke branches as
they fell with a loud rumble
to land behind the row of
sheet-metal garages near
the substation and the public
toilet chokedwith vegetation.
Mirdal told me to go and
catch one of those beams in
flight. I ran towards one that
was falling in slowmotion and
then felt Mirdal’s hands grab
me before I could carry out
the suicidal mission. He stuck
me into the shopping bag as
punishment, and my head
looked out of it and swayed
in time with Mirdal’s steps as
we made for Ustikolina. From
there one can see the river
islands, the football stadiums
and the confluence at Ajak,
where I later once secretly
bathed in the early spring: I
dared to swim out into the