Zlata's Diary (13 page)

Yesterday Mommy and Daddy arranged with Mirna's parents to see whether we can finish the school year privately. Mirna and I would study together, and our parents would help us with whatever we didn't understand and that way we would make use of all this boring time on our hands. And we'd finish the year. We'll see! First we have to see with the school whether it's possible. The convoy has fallen through. I think we'll have to give up on it. You can't get out of Sarajevo. Thy won't let you. Who won't? It doesn't even matter ... We'll stay where we are. This can't go on forever. Perhaps the “kids” will get tired of their game.

Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

We got a letter from Keka and Neda. It made us all sad and we cried again. It's not easy for them either.

Auntie Ivanka received a package from Belgrade and brought me all sorts of things. Chocolate, ham (OOOH!), instant mashed potatoes, sugar, coffee, macaroni. Thank you Auntie Ivanka! And Auntie Radmila brought me powdered milk. Imagine how everyone is thinking of me, a child hungry for everything. I got three letters from French children through a humanitarian organization. They were colorful New Year's cards that arrived late. They were full of love and warm wishes for peace in Sarajevo. One of them came with colored magic markers, which I used to draw them a heart.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Our idea of finishing fifth grade fell through. It can't be done because they're seriously thinking about reopening the schools. Schools? All the schools near me are either unusable or full of refugees . Where? They're talking about using the Teacher Training College (which is near us). That would be good.

Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

There is now gas on our side, too, here on the left bank of the Miljacka. But how to get it? Our neighbor Enver helped us out. He let us hook up to his gas supply. Zika, Avdo and Daddy were “gas men” today. They put a heater in our stove and now it's warm. Daddy doesn't have to chop wood (that is, furniture) anymore. We attached the gas stove to it too, so now we can cook on gas. SUPER! How much nicer everything is, how much easier we breathe. Now we can sleep in the corner of the sitting room again and the apartment looks nicer.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

There's a terrible problem. We've run out of bird food for Cicko. There's no bird food anywhere in town. What can we do?

We cook him rice, but he won't touch it. Auntie Ivanka brought unglazed rice, and he nibbled at it. He won't touch cooked peas. The only thing he seems willing to try is bread crumbs. We raised the alarm. We want to save our Cicko—we can't let him starve.

Today Mommy got bird food from Auntie Radmila and a colleague at work. They took it from the beaks of their own pets. Oh, you should see, Mimmy, how Cicko eats! But we mustn't give him too much, we have to save. We only have enough for a few days.

And this evening, this evening when Zika came to listen to RFI, he brought a bag of the precious grain for our Cicko. How lucky you are Cicko. See how people are thinking of you? Now he has a decent amount of food. He won't die of hunger.

There, even birds are sharing their food, helping each other out, like people. I'm so happy. Enjoy yourself, Cicko!

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

I'm sick again. My throat hurts, I'm sneezing and coughing. And spring is around the corner. The second spring of the war. I know from the calendar, but I don't see it. I can't see it because I can't feel it. All I can see are the poor people still lugging water, and the even poorer invalids—young people without arms and legs. They're the ones who had the fortune or perhaps the misfortune to survive.

There are no trees to blossom and no birds, because the war has destroyed them as well. There is no sound of birds twittering in springtime. There aren't even any pigeons—the symbol of Sarajevo. No noisy children, no games. Even the children no longer seem like children. They've had their childhood taken away from them, and without that they can't be children. It's as if Sarajevo is slowly dying, disappearing. Life is disappearing. So how can I feel spring, when spring is something that awakens life, and here there is no life, here everything seems to have died.

I'm sad again, Mimmy. But you have to know that I'm getting sadder and sadder. I'm sad whenever I think, and I have to think.

Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

News. Nedo got himself a job with UNPROFOR. He'll be working as a translator for the observers. He came straight to my door last night with his helmet and flak jacket on. I almost fainted. Of course, I immediately tried on the helmet, but the flak jacket—it's so heavy! I almost fell over when I put it on. That's the good news. The rest, the rest is the usual. STUPID!

Ciao!
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Slobo is very sick. He's in the hospital. He hasn't been well at all ever since Doda left. He's fallen ill from grief. The war has destroyed his life. His Doda is in Slovenia, Dejan and mother in Subotica. He's alone. Now he has illness for company. And it won't let him go. He's getting worse. I don't know anything about illness, except when you have a temperature and a sore throat, but they say he is seriously ill. Mommy and Daddy went to see him in the hospital. They say he doesn't look well or feel well. They mentioned some kind of radiation. I really feel sorry for Slobo!

Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

The days go by, March is almost over and has brought us nothing good. It's as though we were stuck in the mud and there's nobody to offer a helping hand and pull us out. And we just keep waiting, stuck like that. If only the convoys had moved out. Wherever I would have gone, it would have been better than this. To tell you the truth, Mimmy, I don't understand why they won't let people leave. Why, this way we're all going to either die or go crazy.

Still, there are some nice things happening to me. Today I had visitors. Two French journalists. They're young and great. The most terrific thing of all is that I talked to them in English the whole time.

They really made my day. It started off like any other, with me bored and thinking about how long things are going to go on like this, but it ended nicely.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

On March 31, 1993, I started school. They've already divided us into Grade VI-I and Grade VI-2. I'm in VI-2. Anesa, Nezla, Nerma and some other girls, whom I don't know, are in my class. It's not what it used to be, but it doesn't matter. The important thing is to go to school, then it won't be so boring. We have all our regular subjects except for physical education and workshop.

Our class-mistress is Zlata Grabovac. And, she's SUPER. Our math teacher—he likes to joke around but I don't understand his lectures very well and so my class-mistress explains them to me. Enisa (our language teacher)—not bad, young, actually, quite good. Azra—the goddess of biology. Branislava (history and geography)—lectures slowly and calmly, and is dreadfully strict during exams. Marija (physics)—no comment. OK. Vlasta (English)—as I said, super. Our art teacher thinks we're all Picasso or Rembrandt or Van Gogh. Slavica (music)—nothing new (she hasn't lost weight, but the dye in her hair has faded and she's gone gray).

There, Mimmy, now you even know my teachers. Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

More terrible, sad news today. Our dear, beloved Cicko has died. He just toppled over and that was it. He wasn't sick. It happened suddenly.

He was singing. Now he's not cold anymore. The poor thing got through the winter, we found him food. And he left it all. Maybe he had had enough of this war. It was all too much for him—he had felt cold and hunger and now he has gone forever. I cried, but Mommy was worse than me. We're going to miss him dreadfully. We loved him so much, he was a member of the family. He lived with us for seven years. That's a long time. Daddy buried him in the yard. His cage is empty. No more Cicko. Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

We've been without Cicko for seven days now. I miss him. He's left a big gap. I keep thinking I'm going to hear his lovely song, but there's no Cicko, and no song. But life goes on.

I already have an A in language, an A in biology, two As in English, two As in art, and it looks as though I'm going to get a B on my history test.

As for food, Coke, sweets and even my favorite drink, Pi-Pi orangeade, come my way often these days. All thanks to my Nedo, who brings them to me from UNPROFOR.

Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Seka is beside herself. It looks as though she's going to be evicted from Bokica's apartment. There are lots of refugees here, Mimmy, lots of people made “homeless” by the war. The war expelled them, destroyed and set fire to their apartments. They have to have a roof over their heads somewhere. And there are not many roofs to be had. There are empty apartments, belonging to people who have left Sarajevo, and they could give the “homeless” a roof over their heads but things seem to be getting complicated. Some people are being moved in, and others moved out. They're replacing one tragedy with another. How awful all this is. Sometimes I don't understand a thing. Actually, I don't understand this war. I know it's stupid, and since it's stupid so is everything else. And I know it won't bring anyone happiness.

The political situation is stupidity in motion. Great BIG stupidity. I really don't know whether to go on living and suffering, to go on hoping, or to take a rope and just ... be done with it. If things go on like this, I'll be twenty in a few years time. If it turns out to be another “Lebanon,” as they keep saying, I'll be thirty. Gone will be my childhood, gone my youth, gone my life. And I'll die and this war still won't be over. And when Mommy says to me: “We'll go away, Zlata,” again I feel like killing myself. Sure, all they're waiting for out there is for some Alica, Malik and Zlata to come along ... Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

I've grown, Mimmy. I have nothing to wear. Everything's too small, too tight, too short for me.

I arranged with Braco to see if I could use some of Martina's things; Keka wrote to me and said to take what I need.

I went there today. I was in Martina and Matea's room. The room was empty, just their photographs, a few of their things, which they must be missing, broken windows, dust. The two of them aren't there. The room is sad and so am I.

After that first encounter with the room, I remembered why I had come. Among Martina's things I found myself a black, patchwork skirt, white tennis shoes, walking shoes and a more feminine pair.

I remembered what Keka had said in her letter: “Take anything that can brighten up your day, Zlata, and enjoy it if you can, because tomorrow will come. You can be sure of it.”

What would brighten up my day is peace, what would brighten up my day is to have them back and to have back everything I've lost.

Ciao!
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

I have sad news for you again. Bobo is dead. Auntie Disa's Bobo. He was killed in Melica's garden. It was a sniper. Awful. Everybody was in the garden and the sniper picked him out. What a shame. He was wonderful. He's left behind little Ines, his four-year-old little girl, who is a refugee with her mother.

Auntie Disa is almost out of her mind with grief. She keeps saying: “Maybe he didn't die. It isn't true. My son will come back to me.”

Horrible, Mimmy, I can't write to you anymore. Your Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Yesterday we got new neighbors. Haris and Alemka, or Alenka (I don't know whether it's an “m” or an “n”). They got married yesterday. They're in Nedo's apartment. He generously opened the doors of his apartment to them and now they're living with him. Nedo and Haris are good friends from before (they're both refugees from Grbavica). Nedo was the best man at their wedding. Our neighborhood is growing.

Today we got a package from Keka. And, as usual, it had all sorts of things in it. Now our food stocks have been fortified. The Milka was great! That's real chocolate!

Ciao!
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

We've just come home from Haris and Alenka's. Like the good neighbors that we are, we went to introduce ourselves and to congratulate them. You only get married the first time once. Nedo was there too. We had a nice time, but the “boys” started shelling again. They say shells fell on the Beograd Hotel and on the kindergarten in Dalmatinska Street. Our own tiresome sniper, we call him “Jovo,” was in a playful mood today. He's really out of his mind. There he goes! He just fired another bullet, to shake us up.

Ciao!
Zlata

Dear Mimmy,

Do you remember May 2, 1992, the worst day in this misery of a life? I often say that maybe it wasn't the most awful day, but it was the first of the most awful days, and so I think of it as the worst. I'll never forget the stench of the cellar, the hunger, the shattering glass, the horrible shelling. We went for twelve hours without food or water, but the worst thing was the fear, huddling in the corner of the cellar, and the uncertainty of what was going to happen. Not understanding what was happening. It gives me the shivers just to think about it.