The Cellist of Sarajevo Read Online Free PDF Page B

done and feels momentarily guilty. He always liked Amil, used to talk to him all the time. But that was before the war. If they were to speak now they would both be reminded only of how much has been lost, how things are no longer what they once were. And eventhough there’s nowhere in the city Dragan could look that wouldn’t tell him this same message, it’s somehow more painful to see it in another human being, someone you once knew.
    He’s stopped talking to his friends, visits no one, avoids those who come to visit him. At work he says as little as possible. He can perhaps learn to bear the destruction of buildings, but the destruction of the living is too much for him. If people are going to be taken away from him, either through death or a transformation of their personality that makes them into strangers, then he’s better off without them.
    Ahead of him, a couple have decided it’s time to cross. A man and a woman in their early thirties, he guesses. The woman is wearing a dress made of a floral fabric that reminds him of the curtains in the house he grew up in. They have been holding hands, and as they step into the street each lets go of the other’s hand and begins to move more quickly, not quite running. When they’re a third of the way across a bullet skids off the asphalt in front of the man, and Dragan hears the crisp smack of a rifle. The couple hesitate, not sure whether to turn back or keep going. Then the man makes a decision, and he grabs the woman’s arm and pulls her towards him. They’re running now, heading for the other side of the street. They’re nearly there when the sniper fires again, but either they’re lucky or the snipermakes a mistake, because their puppeteer remains standing and they reach the other side.
    The people around him breathe easier, relieved, partly because the couple made it, and partly because they no longer have to wonder whether the intersection is being targeted today. There’s a strange sense of relief in knowing where the danger is. It’s much easier to deal with than an unfocused sense of doom, of being uncertain about where the men on the hills are shooting. At least now they know. For a few minutes no one ventures into the street, but Dragan knows that eventually someone will risk it, and then someone else, until everyone who was here when the sniper fired is gone, and those who arrive won’t even know about the couple’s narrow escape. The sniper will fire again, though, if not here then somewhere else, and if not him then someone else, and it will all happen again, like a herd of gazelle going back to the water hole after one of their own is eaten there.

 
    TWO

 
    Kenan
    T HE WALK DOWNHILL TOWARDS THE OLD TOWN would have begun Kenan’s day whether the war was on or not. Until recently he worked as a clerical assistant in an accounting firm, but the building is now destroyed, and in any case there’s no work to do. If he makes a great effort, however, if he controls what he sees and thinks, if he forgets about the water bottles he’s carrying, he can, for the first few blocks, fool himself into imagining that he’s on his way to work. Perhaps he’ll have lunch with one of his colleagues. Perhaps they’ll sit outside in Veliki Park with a coffee. He might tease his friend Goran, who is, inexplicably, a fan of the Chelsea Football Club, about a recent loss.
    Soon, though, he will arrive at a switchback where the neighbourhood trash bins are located. They’re no longer visible beneath an ever-growing heap of refuse that is scoured daily for anything of the slightest value. As soon as he sees this he can no longer ignore the overturned cars or the buildings with their innards exposed. He can’t help hearing gunfire in the distance, and he remembers that Veliki Park is one of the most dangerous parts of the city. He hasn’t seen Goran in months, and suspects he’s dead.
    He continues downhill. If he looks up he can see the mountains to the