Thursday, march 25th

Day: One

    Last night J. and I found ourselves in Miljakovac, at a birthday party for a little one who just turned three. What a birthday...

    There were no sirens there, or were they so weak that they couldn't be heard. At one point we heard something that sounded like a detonation, so we went to the window to see what was going on. A few people running across the lawn, the choir-like howling of the car alarms. Then somebody said that it must be the local hooligans fooling around. That they threw a hand bomb, having nothing better to do. Well, what was really interesting is how the mind refuses to accept reality: we all accepted this nonsense as a logical fact, and returned to dinner without giving it second thought. I will always remember this collective psychological short circuit.

    And so we were sitting at the table, peacefully, for almost another hour after the attack had begun... The television was on, but not the radio. Then we received a phone call from a relative, informing us that bombs are falling on Pristina. In the meantime, the transmissio fro TV Studio B froze, as did the smiles on our faces. Thirty seconds after Dragan Kojadinovic (head editor of Studio B) had appeared on the screen and began reading the announcement, a strong explosion sounded near by (that hit in Rakovica). The building trembled as if a 7-degree earthquake hit it. It is unnecessary to describe the crying and screaming that occurred afterwards, I just repeat: what a party for the little birthday boy that was...

    After about an hour of wandering about the garage on the ground floor of the building (no shelter anywhere), the two of us headed for the center. The buses were running as always - a slightly incredible sight. On the Slavija square, a crowd somewhat smaller than usual, but still a lot of people, hamburgers in large qualities, people devouring them.

    We walked to the Vuk Monument. Across from the University Library, among other vehicles, a van parked, a man selling books. Bashfully offering to the passers-by a disorganized pile of books stacked all over the seats. The boss took care of advertising - on the car and the posts beside it, posters with the following text:

In the shelter
and the trenches
what is necessary
is a book.

    I repeat: A BOOK!!!

    At the entrances to the underground station, small groups of people; in the park, a staggering handful of those who thought that alcohol is the best way to beat fear. Down there, underground, it was vivid - refugee solidarity; peaceful. A few territorials and policemen were keeping the order. Blankets everywhere on the marble floor, children lying on them. You don't even consider some things until you literally run into them: the platforms are 40 meters under the ground (or was it even 60?). Tunnels, through which trains come and go, can always serve as an exit in case the entrance above is covered. This place is most likely the safest civilian shelter in all of Belgrade. If it is necessary again, if you are close enough, even if you are not but you are planning ahead - hide there.

    At approximately 12:30, after the danger from air had ceased, we walked back up the Boulevard. We were soon picked up by a man who was so 'lucky' that, as was driving from Vienna, and beneath the NATO rockets, he managed to pass almost everything that was bombed in Vojvodina. He saw Batajnica in flames (which we had already heard from a couple other people); there was a fire in 'Utva' in Pancevo.

    He drove us to 'Lion' where another alert signal awaited us; and we ended up in yet another shelter. The building is the first one before 'Simpo' department store, as you go up. A pleasant shelter, pleasant people inside, which is convenient if one is to wait for sunrise there. Freshly painted, with seats and beds built in and a separate bathroom, ventilation working, auxiliary exit leading behind the restaurant 'Lipov lad'. Four stars and a recommendation.

    When we came out to the metallic-blue dawn, half an hour after the silencing of the sirens, somewhere behind Zvezdara (they say that Grocka was shot as well) and while we were waiting for a car to come up the deserted Boulevard, I wasn't thinking about anything in particular. Only somewhere, backstage, together with the thought that we will have lots of sun today, there was the little unpretentious, polite, in no way connected, hum of the 'Good morning, jazzers' tune running around.

    Who could count all the things we have gotten used to and have lived with? We will get used to and we will live with this, just as soon as the beginner's stage fright goes away.

Anonymous