Trafika Europe 5 - Slovenian Interlude

good and obey my parents, so I wouldn’t add to their troubles. I still didn’t know what their troubles were, but rather than explain, she just squeezed me tight and said, ‘My dear, my sweet child,’ and began crying even harder than mother. The truck eventually rolled up and Shkeliqim, the driver, saluted us and began to load our suitcases and boxes into the back. My mother had to step off her suitcase, and she went to hug Enisa, so that they both watched Shkeliqim through teary eyes, as my father calmly passed him one piece of luggage after another. When the last backpack was loaded, and Shkeliqim was tightening the tarpaulin, I felt a sting in my own heart, and nearly joined in the crying. I had this sinister premonition that my summer had come to an end even before it had started. That father would never again take me to the Golden Rocks beach after lunch, so I could jump into the sea from the incremental boulders. When we turned out of our street, Shkeliqim said that we needn’t stay awake on his account, and that we were welcome to go to sleep, because the drive would be long and tiring. He was suspiciously happy, talking a lot, laughing even more, while we silently stared out at our last journey past the theatre, the Golden Gate, the Arena. Soon my birthplace receded into nothing more than those clusters of distant fireflies on the black horizon that mother always loved, but now she intentionally turned

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