TE21 Serbian Moments

Nana Ekvtimishvili

The Pear Field

‘I mean, it’s up to you,’ says Lela. ‘I wouldn’t keep ringing her, though.’ They make a detour to buy cigarettes. Zaira is ill and her kiosk is closed, so they head to the kiosks further up the road. The sun is high in the sky, bathing everything in a brilliant white light. A gentle breeze blows through the branches, caressing the leaves and sending elongated shadows dancing lazily across the tarmac. It’s as if everyone has just packed up and left. Apart from an occasional car or marshrutka trundling down the road, kicking up clouds of dust, the street is deserted. They stop at a dilapidated kiosk selling nothing but kerosene, matches and cigarettes. It’s open, but there’s no sign of the owner. A man dressed in tracksuit bottoms and flip-flops who’s sitting alongside gets to his feet and wanders off into the courtyard behind the kiosk. He comes out a fewmoments later with a hunched but spry-looking elderly woman, presumably his mother. She goes into her tiny kiosk. Lela asks for a few cigarettes and pays.




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