13-X-2018.: Cemetetry search
We heard the sad news that Milan is buying eggs. It's as if a peasant from north Srem goes to supermarket to buy wine, sacrilege. So she hatched a plan, and we did it today. We first delivered the eggs to him (success, even waking him over the phone worked fine), then went to Surčin (by our private route we perfected this june) and then, after a slight detour, went on the beltway to cross Sava at Ostružnica.
Went to Zajač, straight to cemetery. Where I last went 45 years ago when grandfather died, and I kind of remembered where he was buried. Found the grave of my real grandmother (not his 2nd wife, auntie Janja's mother). The three obelisks were moved next to her and set into a concrete step. Those were stones without graves, for my grand-grandfather and his two brothers, who all died in the wars (1913, 1915, 1916). Found his brother, brother's wife and son, even (I guess) my grandmother's sister, but didn't take a shot of that stone because the battery in the camera just died. The phone died later, after we had lunch (same place as before, not relying on any relatives to provide it, nor taking any of them out). Had just enough juice to call uncle Staja and announce ourselves.
Finding his place was the usual runaround. The street names are not posted (though I sort of remember seeing his street's name last time, but in that rain I lost the sense of how far from centre was it). So I drove about twice there and back, and when returning second time I stopped at some car repair to ask for directions. The guy said "next right, 20m from here". Went there and it wasn't. Two old ladies said we just passed that street. Ah, the guy could have said "right behind my fence, up the hill", but no, he meant "next, 20m from where I'm sitting, and my yard is 40m wide". Yeah right, and taking a left on that street is near impossible and takes as much nerve as the street is long. But we eventually got there.
Didn't have much to talk about. For one, he doesn't quite hear everything, though he's not even half deaf as dad was. Next, we get just about the same amount of entropy when we ask about his daughters. We saw Anica by accident six years ago; other than that I think we saw them maybe once since our wedding. On two occasions when dad arranged for them to wait for us (delivering that cask of wine in 1998 when Ford was here, and when I was getting the visa extension in 2005) they deliberately weren't there, weren't answering the phone. And their retirement age is nearing... This time the excuse is that they are so fucking busy, the bosses, you know those privatniks, keep them working even on saturdays. Well, I stopped caring long ago.
Trip home was uneventful. The number of visits to the place for this decade is up, and we don't feel like coming any more. We're actually visiting dad's generation; their children never even call. Ergo, fuck off.
Mentions: 16-X-1973., Allan Robin (Ford), Anica Tešić, auntie Janja, Milan Nastić, uncle Staja, Zajač, in serbian