attention to myself, but my parents only had eyes for their daughter-in-law because, seeing as I’d brought her, it was clear to them that we were going to get married.
Then we were back in our rented flat. Things had stopped evolving and I didn’t know exactly what we’d think up next, what lifestyle. We just had to avoid repeating the same old patterns, I told Sanja. We had to break through in a new direction, bore a tunnel, build a bold viaduct, whatever.
But then Boris had popped up, a feature in the landscape like my parents’ garage. I simply couldn’t explain to her the whole depth of the problem, so I turned the laptop toward her. “Read some of his stuff and tell me what you think.”
From: Boris < [email protected] >
To: Toni < [email protected] >
Resistance is removed like a wart with a laser. I guess all this looks like a film when you see it on TV, the desert is just the right backdrop, as if you were colonizing Mars, you have no idea if there’s any life there, you search for it, move on, there has to be something, at least bacteria or remains, fossils, fossil fuels, who knows what, you never know if the aliens have weapons of mass destruction, what level of technology they’re at. Here’s an embedded journalist, a Bush, Tudjman, or Miloševic man, someone’s fan, please circle the correct answer, and he asked me what I thought about weapons of mass destruction, if there were any, and would they be used in the Battle for Baghdad. Heprovoked me because everyone somehow realizes that I’m an amateur, no idea how those pros tick, but of course Saddam’s boys don’t have weapons of mass destruction because you definitely wouldn’t attack them if they did, so never fear, we can be calm, I said optimistically, and we toasted with alcohol-free beer. The people love me. What more can I say? I feel accepted, but then the storm begins, a wind from the south brings eddies of dust and fine, fine sand, it fills your mouth, nose and eyes, so we fled to the cars and sat in those closed cars all day, sweating, you can’t see a thing, you don’t dare to open a window, not in your wildest dreams, not in your wildest fucking dreams. The sand will make its way in, into your brain. Inside it’s unbearably hot, brain waves, frequencies, bro, I wanted to call you just now to see what the weather’s like there, but they told us to be careful with the Thuraya numbers because they could be located, rocketed, and there’s no point in me getting charcoaled here just because of the weather.
Sanja smiled as she read. “He’s just having fun.”
“I don’t know if he’s gone crazy or not.”
“I think it’s tongue-in-cheek,” she said.
“He’s messing me around, the dickhead! If anyone’s the object of that humor, it’s me.”
“I don’t find it all that weird, you know. He has no training in your language. I think if someone sent me to tag along behind the Yanks as if I was reporting on a sports event, I think I’d kind of want to muck up too.”
“OK, I know you’re against the war.”
“And why shouldn’t I be? At least this guy is saying something; your paper doesn’t have any position on the war.”
“So basically you mean he’s being subversive?”
“Consciously or not.”
So they were the subversive ones, and I represented the system; they were on the side of freedom, and me—of repression. Sanja laughed as she read more. So he’s witty, and I have no sense of humor? And I have to rack away at the crud he’s written to patch it up while the young ’uns could let it all hang out.
“I’d publish it like that,” she said.
“I can’t publish that. We’re a normal newspaper, not a fanzine for nutters.”
“Yes, you lay down what’s considered ‘normal,’” she said.
“Tell that to Ingo. Sounds like you’re a bigger punk at home than on the stage.”
“That was below the belt.”
“You’re lecturing me as if I’d just started thinking about all this today! I
Then we were back in our rented flat. Things had stopped evolving and I didn’t know exactly what we’d think up next, what lifestyle. We just had to avoid repeating the same old patterns, I told Sanja. We had to break through in a new direction, bore a tunnel, build a bold viaduct, whatever.
But then Boris had popped up, a feature in the landscape like my parents’ garage. I simply couldn’t explain to her the whole depth of the problem, so I turned the laptop toward her. “Read some of his stuff and tell me what you think.”
From: Boris < [email protected] >
To: Toni < [email protected] >
Resistance is removed like a wart with a laser. I guess all this looks like a film when you see it on TV, the desert is just the right backdrop, as if you were colonizing Mars, you have no idea if there’s any life there, you search for it, move on, there has to be something, at least bacteria or remains, fossils, fossil fuels, who knows what, you never know if the aliens have weapons of mass destruction, what level of technology they’re at. Here’s an embedded journalist, a Bush, Tudjman, or Miloševic man, someone’s fan, please circle the correct answer, and he asked me what I thought about weapons of mass destruction, if there were any, and would they be used in the Battle for Baghdad. Heprovoked me because everyone somehow realizes that I’m an amateur, no idea how those pros tick, but of course Saddam’s boys don’t have weapons of mass destruction because you definitely wouldn’t attack them if they did, so never fear, we can be calm, I said optimistically, and we toasted with alcohol-free beer. The people love me. What more can I say? I feel accepted, but then the storm begins, a wind from the south brings eddies of dust and fine, fine sand, it fills your mouth, nose and eyes, so we fled to the cars and sat in those closed cars all day, sweating, you can’t see a thing, you don’t dare to open a window, not in your wildest dreams, not in your wildest fucking dreams. The sand will make its way in, into your brain. Inside it’s unbearably hot, brain waves, frequencies, bro, I wanted to call you just now to see what the weather’s like there, but they told us to be careful with the Thuraya numbers because they could be located, rocketed, and there’s no point in me getting charcoaled here just because of the weather.
Sanja smiled as she read. “He’s just having fun.”
“I don’t know if he’s gone crazy or not.”
“I think it’s tongue-in-cheek,” she said.
“He’s messing me around, the dickhead! If anyone’s the object of that humor, it’s me.”
“I don’t find it all that weird, you know. He has no training in your language. I think if someone sent me to tag along behind the Yanks as if I was reporting on a sports event, I think I’d kind of want to muck up too.”
“OK, I know you’re against the war.”
“And why shouldn’t I be? At least this guy is saying something; your paper doesn’t have any position on the war.”
“So basically you mean he’s being subversive?”
“Consciously or not.”
So they were the subversive ones, and I represented the system; they were on the side of freedom, and me—of repression. Sanja laughed as she read more. So he’s witty, and I have no sense of humor? And I have to rack away at the crud he’s written to patch it up while the young ’uns could let it all hang out.
“I’d publish it like that,” she said.
“I can’t publish that. We’re a normal newspaper, not a fanzine for nutters.”
“Yes, you lay down what’s considered ‘normal,’” she said.
“Tell that to Ingo. Sounds like you’re a bigger punk at home than on the stage.”
“That was below the belt.”
“You’re lecturing me as if I’d just started thinking about all this today! I
Similar Books
