Juliana sat herself in a stable position, leant forward and stretched out her arm until she was able to get a firm grip on the handle of the bag. Don’t go losing your balance now, whatever you do, she thought to herself as she slowly pulled the piece of luggage towards her.
The suitcase that Nicola had put down in the middle of the room yesterday was roomier than she’d first thought – and, with its little wheels, rather practical too. No comparison with the old monstrosity up on top of the wardrobe with its rusty metal fittings and huge locks like on a steamer trunk. Juliana looked up.
Filled to bursting with pamphlets it had been, once upon a time, with just a thin cover of laundry on top as a disguise. How many years ago had that been?
That was right, it had been during the war. Juliana could hear the crunch of jackboots again, the Germans marching in step, and Sophia engaging in heated discussions with her fellow students at night in the kitchen – communists with moustaches and wild ideas, quarrels by candlelight, often until the early hours of the morning. Juliana didn’t know anything about politics, but even she knew that calling for resistance against the German occupiers and the fascists meant risking your life. And of course it had to be Sophia, the daughter of a good family, who was chosen to go down to the station with the suitcase full of flyers and hand over this highly dangerous cargo to a contact boarding the train to Zagreb. What insanity. Juliana had insisted on accompanying her cousin.
Platform three, ten p.m. – she remembered it as if it were yesterday. People everywhere, tears, screaming children, whistles and loudspeaker announcements. Men in German uniforms on patrol, and then, suddenly: ‘Your papers, please! Open that suitcase!’
Sophia was paralysed. The officer, a very young man, bent over the underwear – a gossamer layer of silk and lace covering the flyers. As he reached down to investigate further, Juliana shouted, ‘Get your grubby paws off ! How dare you? A lady’s underwear!’
The German officer blushed. He straightened up smartly, saluted and let them pass.
When Juliana thought about it today, she still didn’t know quite what had come over her. She had surpassed herself, and yet now she didn’t even have the gumption to contradict her beloved cousin. He could do whatever he pleased, and she simply fell in line.
Juliana looked at her watch. She had to get her skates on and pack her things. Nicola had given her two clear instructions: ‘only pack the bare essentials’ and ‘be ready to leave early afternoon’. He’d spoken these words like they were orders, but had told her nothing about where they were headed.
She secretly hoped that Nicola would change his mind again. He was a bit scatterbrained, after all… Maybe he’d bring along these people who’d come and shifted the furniture and measured all the walls and taken pictures of the old tiles. The place had been like a madhouse, and she’d been at the centre of it. Angelina, her neighbour, hadn’t shown her face for ages now, and Sophia had kept quiet about everything.
There was no getting away from it: Nicola had changed, and not for the better. The Nicola of old, the charming rogue, who wouldn’t hurt a fly and would go to any lengths to make her laugh – that Nicola was no more. The Nicola of today was angry, behaved unpredictably and packed a gun beneath his smart jacket. She’d seen it with her own eyes. Of course, it had been a mistake to sign the piece of paper giving him power of attorney and to hand over the keys. But how could she deny him these things? He was the master of the house now, and she – the old Juliana who had kept the entire place going all these years – would even have been happier if he’d just ignored her rather than treating her, as he usually did, like she’d lost her marbles.
She groped in her pocket for the little card with the phone number. She shouldn’t pretend any longer that everything was all right. She ought to ask the lady for help – it was high time, maybe even her last chance. She reached for the telephone, lifted the heavy receiver off its base, held it against her ear and listened. ‘Hello?’
The line was dead. But somewhere, very close, she could hear music playing softly. Someone was playing the piano, a bright and breezy piece. Juliana put down the receiver. The smells of the garden wafting in through the open window were intoxicating – especially the lilies, and the leaves of the walnut tree were glowing in the sunshine. It was like opening a curtain and seeing open fields outside, full of ripe hops. Her brothers bringing in the harvest, with their strong, tanned backs, and her mother, almost translucent, sitting on the seat near the well. Everything was fine. The pool was full to the brim with rainwater. Wasn’t it time to go now?
She got up, stroked the back of Sophia’s easy chair and set the cup straight on the saucer. On the way to the door, her eyes fell on the mirror. Juliana Spajić, the poor cousin from Kopaonik. She’d once stood in this doorway carrying a small bundle containing all her worldly possessions. Sophia had been sitting on the window ledge over there, with her legs ✴ 262 ✴ dangling down, and had looked at her with curiosity. But all the excitement of that day had been about the son who’d been born upstairs, and who would be christened Nicola.
The piano had fallen quiet. In the silence, a key turned in the lock. There was a sudden draught, and a window blew shut. Juliana heard him wheeling his bike into the courtyard.
‘Are you there?’ he called out. ‘Have you packed?’
Seven steps and he’d be standing in the kitchen. Like a thief, Juliana stole away into the larder. There was no lock. She held her breath as she listened behind the door, and heard his footsteps pass by, followed by something crashing to the floor in the kitchen. The dead telephone. Or had he discovered that the bag was empty?
‘Where are you?’ he shouted. ‘Bloody bitch!’
She trembled with fear and outrage. This man was nothing but a yob, a con artist, who was intent on getting his hands on everything he could, including things that didn’t belong to him. Suddenly, everything was crystal clear. This man was a thief, a criminal. This man wasn’t Nicola, her beloved cousin. He was a stranger. He wanted her out of the way, and he wouldn’t rest until he was rid of her.
She had to do something. Barricade the door with the potato sack. She gathered all her strength, but as she went to drag it out she knocked against the poker, which made enough noise to wake the dead.
‘Are you in there?’ he yelled. ‘Answer me!’