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By:
Velimir Ćurgus Kazimir
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Translated by: Ben Andoni
- 5 May 2024 18:06
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Paul Erlanger, the correspondent of "The New York Times", came to me because everyone knew that my son was serving in the Serbian army in Kosovo. But I only became aware of how many people knew this years later. This is the reason why even today I ask: was Ivan's escape to Kosovo completely a coincidence, or was it the work of some Service that did this in a completely deliberate and conscious way. For myself, I have experienced this as a kind of kidnapping Velimir Ćurgus Kazimir
At the end of April, Paul Erlanger, the correspondent of "The New York Times", came to me. I talked to him based on what I knew from Ivan's letters (only two in total), and from one of his friends who managed to get five days off and visited me in the office. It was the first time it was reported that there was a big difference between the reservists of the regular army and the various military forces. I was somewhat anxious to understand the difference between the normal and polite boys and the many Alabaks who had flocked to Kosovo. I told Pol how Ivan's friends felt extremely bad when they encountered Albanian civilians who were being chased by the police and how they collected milk and water bottles and gave them to them. Erlanger came to me because everyone knew that my son was serving in the Serbian army in Kosovo. But I only became aware of how many people knew this years later. This is the reason why even today I ask: was Ivan's escape to Kosovo completely a coincidence, or was it the work of some Service that did this in a completely deliberate and conscious way. For myself, I have experienced this as a kind of kidnapping.
And so I marked it. In front of me, people tried to behave very carefully and gently, as if I were mentally ill or terminally ill. There were also some exceptions - antisocial people and fully aware of what they were challenging their confession. Some, for example, told me in great detail what the Apache "Love" armored vehicles (24) and all kinds of ground blinds looked like - what the tips of the rockets were and how they chased everything after their explosions. They thought, perhaps, that only in this way I would prepare for the worst, instead of dreaming of a happy ending. As for my commitment, not only the friendly side was known, but also the other side. One day I met an old colleague on the street, editor of the economic section of "Politics" (25), somewhere near the Youth House, and what he told me shocked me. I told him to order his boss (Struji) that if something were to happen to my son, I wouldn't leave anyone without breaking his gut and that Struji would be one of the first on this list anyway. It was one of those days, when "little" Marko (26) was photographed by the newspapers in the black uniform of SAJ (27). Mutrats paraded patriotism and heroism in their comfortable and safe bunkers, while other people's children, like mine, tore into the mud of Kosovo. I was constantly hearing different stories about Kosovo. Among other things, there was an increase in the number of patients with scabies, dysentery, chronic lack of food, great suffering of civilians, ambushes and kidnappings by the KLA, crimes by the Frenkievics (28) and the Wolves of Majevica ( 29).
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The package we sent to Ivan had reached him only after a month and a half. They had looted it. (This of course we found out later.) Ivan only answered us for the first two weeks, and then we lost all contact with him. The woman, who worked as a receptionist at the "Pashtrik" hotel, whom we called from time to time to hear anything about the situation in Gjakova, tried to calm us down with stories like that all the soldiers had left the barracks and how they were being bombed. only empty and unused objects. Then, this connection was also broken. I then tried to contact the boy through fellow journalists, some of whom had satellite phones, but this was also unsuccessful.
Meanwhile, our house was filled with Ivan and Gorana's friends. We slept as if we were on the run. One day we discovered a large can of tuna, forgotten since who-since-when - we could have brought it from Sarajevo from Lele, which suffered a lot during the siege. It was an extremely large Norwegian can, almost a kilo or two. We opened it carefully, with the great fear that we would be stung by the fish's foul smell. But instead we had a real feast, joined by the godparents and many friends. On this occasion, we ate several kilos of potatoes, added onions, and after making a big potato salad, we also mixed ours. I remember that we ate slowly and that at the end we were looking for something sweet, but we didn't have any. (Zdravko Gvero (30), if I'm not mistaken, had given one of us a cigarette stick, a very strange brand "Wolf", which reminded me of the famous hero "Nero Wolfe" (31) of Rex Stau. All while we were there we drank a liter of coffee and continued to smoke desperately. I don't remember if anyone drank alcohol.)
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Oblivion is imminent
When one day the water from the tap disappeared, probably because of the current, on the boulevard, in Batutova (32), a tank with drinking water was parked. A huge queue immediately formed. I stood in line like everyone else. The devil didn't give me peace even there, so for a moment I turned to everyone: Now you can imagine what it was like in Sarajevo, even when there were no snipers! No one answered me, those around just walked away.
Gorana in Budapest lives with Verica and Slavko, my very dear friends, but also old colleagues. I worked with Verican for several years at the "Politika" newspaper in the culture section, where, as the relationship went, I ended up as a punishment. We were very worried about Gorana, because it was the first time she was alone away from us. How would he do it? Who would he date? We didn't have enough money to send it to him. I knew, of course, that with Verica and Slavko he would not die of hunger, but when one is far from home, then one needs something more to relieve one's hunger somehow. My acquaintances from CEU (33) helped her to find a place, a music school, where she could practice the harp regularly. I thought that one finds more solace in music than in literature. Back then, I couldn't write a single text seriously, except for work emails of course. Of course, I couldn't even paint. I don't remember if I read any books. I was only focused on simple survival.
To be continued in the next issue of the Culture Supplement
Translated from the original: Ben Andoni. Published with permission of the author.
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They were not in Kosovo, they were protecting the heart of Serbia - the Milosevic family
Velimir Ćurgus (1948, Novi-Sad – November 11, 2018, Belgrade). Journalist and well-known personality of Serbian journalism. Director of "Ebart Consulting" since 2002. He was editor of the cultural column in "Politika" newspaper from 1988 to 1996. Before that, he worked as an editor and publisher for eight years at the Serbian Youth Research and Publishing Center in Belgrade. He is one of the founders of the Independent Association of Journalists of Serbia and the author of about ten books of prose and essays on the topic of culture and cultural politics. His essays and books have been translated into English, French, German, Spanish, Polish, Japanese and several other minor languages. He is the author of several books on media relations, politics and culture, and also the drafter of several projects in the field of media and culture research. Velimir Ćurgus received the International Essay Prize at "Lettre International", in Weimar, in 2000. He was a member of the Serbian Center - PEN since 1987. But Ćurgus was also a painter, especially in the type of combined technique on paper. Five exhibitions are associated with his name. He was also the author of two short film scripts.
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