Miljenko Jergovic - Mama Leone

Rika, Merry Christmas , Lujo came over to her, the devil peeking out from behind his every word. Have you no shame, man? Nana Erika turned her back to him. She looked at the wall and waited for him to go. He said something else, but she wasn’t listening. Sometimes you have to forgive people the unforgivable. But they’re not just any old folk, they’re Rika and Lujo. In the thirties all Sarajevo turned its head when they walked the riverbank, there had never been such a couple, or so people said, and that’s no small thing; when you’re with someone for sixty years, there’s no suffering you haven’t endured together, no sin you haven’t forgiven them. In a marriage like this people become similar to God: mercy and forgiveness embodied and only thus can they be happy. Nana will forgive Lujo this lie too. How could she not forgive him his lies when he’s so certain he’s protecting her from what she is to discover on Christmas Day inquiring of everyone who and what they are.

That day and the entire night, and then the whole of the next day, Nana Erika kept her back turned to the world. She looked at the wall, sometimes she would fall asleep and doze for an hour or two until someone came by, but she wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t say a word. She was punishing Lujo and knew well how long the punishment must last. Long enough for Lujo to think she would never look at him again and he would forever see only her back.

Promise me something, Lujo , she finally spoke, having checked that they were alone. Promise me that tomorrow we’ll celebrate Christmas Eve, and that the day after tomorrow we’ll celebrate Christmas, and that all these people won’t addle our minds and muddle our feast days. . Rika, all this I promise you, just don’t ever switch off again, and don’t ever turn your back to me. What a wretch I’d be without you , he said, framing her face in his hands and kissing her lips.

Nana Erika slept poorly because she spent the whole night worrying about butter for the cake, chocolate, codfish, decorating paper, and the suckling; who knows if there’ll still be young sucklings at the market or whether they’ll already be sold out, she thought, tossing and turning. And who’ll fetch everything when she can’t stand on her own two feet, and Lujo, well you know Lujo, he can’t even buy mincemeat at the butcher’s, let alone a suckling. She finally dozed a little in the dawn, but a girl woke her: Nana, it’s Christmas Eve today, isn’t it? Nana Erika caught a glimpse of mischief in her eyes. As if she were making sure that Nana knew about Christmas Eve and Christmas.

Nana Erika sits in her armchair in front of the television caressing the roses in their black sky. It’s a summer night above Treskavica, Lujo’s asleep in the cabin, but she can’t sleep because he kissed her for the first time today. Roses had appeared in the sky in place of stars and no one would ever see them except her. Warm, soft, and tender roses on a black sky blanketing her legs, warming them like it never had before.

The boy leads her step by step to the dining room. At the head of the table sit Nana Erika and Lujo, around the table the strangers. Lujo dear, do you know how many Christmas Eves this makes for us? But he just shrugs his shoulders, turns the ring on her finger with his thumb and index finger, and lets his gaze wander as if afraid the strangers might notice something; that they might see that even after so many years the two of them are still in love, and try and destroy or trample what they have. Nana Erika won’t let them though. She’ll ask them whose they are and who they are, and on Christmas Day they’ll have to tell her the truth because whoever dares lie on Christmas Day will burn in the eternal fires of hell.

How far is it to Bethlehem? Nana Erika begins the song, just Lujo accompanies her, the strangers remaining silent. They’re probably ashamed when they hear the song and it’s better they shut up and try to feel God’s voice in their hearts, a voice to kill every lie, cleanse them of every doubt and hatred and return to them the hope that not a single truth is ever spoken in vain, not even the truth they shall soon speak of themselves and their intentions toward Nana Erika and her Lujo.

The last verses of the song disappeared in that first phase of deep sleep. When her chin touched her chest, Lujo shouted Rika, wake up, Rika, it’s Christmas Eve , but sound asleep she didn’t hear him. She slept the sleep of the just, the sleep of children and those who have endured great suffering but haven’t done others the least harm.

Today is Christmas Day, isn’t that right, Rika? Lujo sounded lost; his voice was pleading, but Nana Erika couldn’t understand why, unless he’d forgotten you couldn’t have Christmas Day without Christmas Eve. People forget all kinds of things, but how could he forget Christmas Eve; it doesn’t matter, she’s here to remind him and protect him from wild thoughts and those who would take advantage of him; naïve is her Lujo, that’s how he’s been all these years and if it weren’t for her, who knows what would have become of him and what they, these people whose names she doesn’t know, might have done to him. The world is full of Christians; she’ll think that every Christmas, but you don’t know their names.

No, Lujo dear, it’s Christmas Eve today, it’s not Christmas Day until tomorrow. Have you forgotten that they go in that order? said Nana Erika. Lujo lowered his head and let tears fall. What’s wrong old fella? she worried. It’s nothing. I just want to know if this is ever going to end. . It will, it’ll end when we go back home, to our house , she smiled, putting her hand on his chest. Strong is her Lujo, he’s always been strong, so strong he could move a mountain if he wanted. It can’t end before then? Can’t it just end before then?. . Of course it can’t, but you know what they say: sabur efendi, sabur, patience, good sir, patience, have patience and God shall have it too. We’ll go home. . And if we don’t?. . It can’t be that we don’t go home. Haven’t you noticed how they look at us here? How could we stay among these people, their names unknown to us. Yes, I know, you’re going to start saying they’re our children and grandchildren. I know why you say that. You say it to make it easier on me, that my heart endure and not break from the waiting, but your Rika’s heart won’t break before we go back to Sarajevo. Don’t you be afraid of a thing. With hope of home, the heart is strong and endures all. And quit that rubbish about our children and grandchildren. We don’t have any, we never had any. Really, who would have children in such times, who would live in fear of their son being killed by someone else’s son or having to pick him up off the sidewalk like you pick up tomatoes at the market because the plastic bag broke. We don’t have children or grandchildren and that’s a good thing too, because our suffering would be a hundred times greater if we did, and this way our only concern is going home and starting over, from the beginning. Fine, I know we won’t be starting over, we’re already old, but at least we’ll die in our own home , said Nana Erika, the tears frozen on Lujo’s face. He must know life isn’t easy, but that’s no reason for us to lie to each other and invent some other world where nothing is difficult. It’s a fine world, Nana Erika doesn’t think it’s not, but such a world has only one failing, a lone error, a single downside; it simply doesn’t exist. We can imagine one, but that doesn’t make it real.

But why won’t you accept these children as your own, as your kin, at least you could do that , Lujo tried. I like them, the same as I like anyone, but they can’t be my children because they’re not like me. Do you hear how they speak? Do think your children would speak like that, in that language? That, Lujo, is not our language, and they are not our words, just as this is not our home, but it is theirs. That’s how it is. I can’t accept others’ children as my own because these children are staying here, here on their wooden floors, in their country, and we’ll be going back to our home. What would I want with such children when I got home? And what do I want with these children if I never go home? Be reasonable, they’re no replacement for one’s home .