среда, 24. јун 2009.

Zoran Ilic

A photo

Many decades passed away before you had left the town, changing one with another.
- Please, I want to change the town where I have lived till now for another one.
Nobody is against, nobody remarks thar you aren't more in town where you have lived till that moment, a town is going to function. Your disappearance happened unperceptibly. Do this magic or to be part of it: disappear on one place and appear on another place.
A few decades later, you are coming back to this town with digital camera (which is invented by the way) with wish to take pictures those places in town with importance in your former life.
Your request to accidental passer by to take of your photos on the bench in front og your former house. On the bench two syllabic woman's name was incised.
You put on a hand over this part of bench. You would like to embrace this invisible girl or woman.
Altrough is summer, the August, there are the first leaves on the lawn. Beside your legs there are some rest of cigarettes while you crush down a wrapper of chocolate desert.
This moment, two persons, the man and woman came to this building. The years are recognized in frontside. Probably on your face, too.
An accidental passer by took pictures on former discribing moment, returned your camera, you thank him and he is going away.
You are still sitting on the bench. You turn and look around curiosly.
Your presence draw one's attention on old uncared-for woman on terrace.
- Who are you looking for, Mister? - she asks on croaking voice.
Who are you looking for, what do you wait? A direct question. What did you answer?
- I am a relict of past, Madame. Somebody who belonged to this place as you are now. Your ruined building also was my home until I asked an incantious question: "Please, I want to change a town..."
And, you won't believe, Madame, a mechanism set going: an empty flat, a furniture in the covered lorry. A hundred and fifty kilometres in the North it unloudes in December's night on New Belgade's lawn, and furniture is in new flat.
New concrete walls must be breathe life, talk them about life in other town, of the best decade in the 20th century which passed... Cold concrete walls are covered with ribled tapestry. The walls of my former flat didn't know what is it. They knew some ideas: hime, brushes, white-washwer, ladder... They even knew an unusual, forgotten word - štricla. Perhaps you remamber, Madame?
The years passes. I try to make a life in new town, finish my studies, get a job, plan a family. I spend all my energy on this aims. The town which I left is forgotten. And then, this summer, I came suddenly in town of my childhood. This strange idea in my sub-consciousness which make efforts: what happend if I never lost it? If I lived here in your town, in your ruined building?
Well, Madame, it is answer on your question: I am looking for nobody. I nobody know from your building. Nobody knows me.