The Black Bird by Kreativni centar

Aleksandra Jovanović

Aleksandra Jovanović The Black Bird First English-language edition © Kreativni centar, 2021 Translated from the Serbian by Nataša Srdić Language editing by Novica Petrović Book cover illustrated by Dobrosav Bob Živković Layout by Dušan Pavlić Edited by Ljiljana Marinković Prepress by Tatjana Valjarević Published by Kreativni centar, Beograd, Gradištanska 8 tel.: 011/ 3088 446 www.kreativnicentar.rs e-mail: info@kreativnicentar.rs CIP – Каталогизација у публикацији For the publisher Ljiljana Marinković, director Printed by Klik tim, Beograd Printed in 2021

Народна библиотека Србије, Београд 821.163.41-93-31 JOVANOVIĆ, Aleksandra, 1996 The Black Bird / Aleksandra Jovanović ; [translated from the Serbian by Nataša Srdić]. – Beograd : Kreativni centar, 2021 (Beograd : Kaligraf). – 149 str. : ilustr. ; 25 Izv. stv. nasl.: Crna ptica. – Tiraž 300.

Tiraž 300

ISBN 978-86-529-0996-4

COBISS.SR-ID 52465417

Prevođenje ove knjige sufinansirano je iz budžeta Republike Srbije – Ministarstva kulture i informisanja. The translation of this book has been financed from the budget of the Republic of Serbia – the Ministry of Culture and Information.

Aleksandra Jovanović

The Black Bird

For Mum, who has dispelled all the ghosts.

The Merry-Go-Round

elja1 can see her breath condensing into a white mist. She shudders, although it isn’t cold. A fog, strange and slightly frightening, has descended. If she could make a guess, she would say she is at the graveyard. In the past six months, she has been there almost every day. The fog disperses and the tombstones become visible. She walks slowly, step by step. Rotten leaves rustle under her feet. She looks at her hands. They are soiled with dirt. – Dad? The wind is howling painfully. She seems to hear a voice calling her name. A child’s voice. She turns around quickly. There is only darkness behind her. She isn’t sure what she is looking for, but she moves on, faster now. A bulky, metal structure suddenly comes into view in the mist. She moves closer in order to take a look at it. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar, soft melody can be heard. Played on the violin. Her heart 1) The protagonist’s name literally translates as “a wish” (translator’s note).

starts to beat faster and she almost trips on a tree root which has emerged out of nowhere. All of a sudden, the large merry-go-round starts to move, making an ear-splitting creaking sound. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. She doesn’t know why, but something pulls her ahead. Mesmerised, she observes the movement of the empty merry-go-round. She spots a dark silhouette between its metal bars. She knows it’s impossible, it cannot be him, that shadow standing behind the merry-go-round. She attempts to shout, then once again, but cannot utter a single word. The man behind the merry-go-round observes her quietly. The wind gets stronger, turns into a menace, and the music stops. Unexpectedly, she is overwhelmed with fear. Why is the shadow motionless? – Dad, is that you? He cannot hear her. Just as she decides to take a risk and try walking around that very unusual merry-goround, she hears a dog barking, apparently from afar. Its echo keeps reverberating. – Želja. This time she is certain. It’s a child’s voice. – I can’t see you! She pricks up her ears to determine where the voice is coming from. Nothing. The merry-go-round is now spinning at lightning speed. It appears that it could break off its base and roll away any moment now. The best thing to do, she thinks, is to run away, as soon as possible. In her mind, she is already in a safe place,

in her bed, her head covered with her purple quilt. Here, she cannot move. As if her feet were dug into the ground. She lowers her head. In front of her feet lies a white chrysanthemum. The dog howls again, now quite close by. Želja wakes up at long last.

Today Isn’t a Wonderful Day

elja yawned audibly and checked the time. She had all of five minutes at her disposal. She’d better get up now, as she knew the five minutes would easily turn into twenty, and then into fifty. She’d rather sleep all day long. Still, if Mum didn’t hear any steps in her room soon, she would come up and see a pile of clothes on a chair, wrinkled paper outside the bin, and perhaps even a ketchup stain on the curtain. For this reason, she’d better not take any risks. The floor creaked unpleasantly. In that house, even spiders could be heard. She remembered last night’s dream. There was a frightening merry-go-round at the graveyard and a voice calling her name. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to bring it back to mind, but it was all already fading in the daylight. She sighed, deciding that it probably didn’t matter. Today she had bigger problems on her plate. She put on her oversized, shabby slippers and got out of the room. Going down the stairs, she sluggishly tugged at the handrail. She used to do that as a little

girl, but broke the habit overnight. It had returned, though. – Dad, wait! He was standing at the foot of the stairs, smiling. Želja dashed towards him, making the stairs creak awfully. She paused near the foot of the stairs and held out her arms. – You want me to carry you, right? He lifted her on his shoulders. They paraded through the house together. She could hear her own laughter echoing in her head. How many years ago was it? Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, she repeated to herself. She could see the grey sky through the window. Even today, there was no sign of the sun. It’s not that she cared, but then again, it would be nice to see the sun sometimes. She could sense the wind outside. She shuddered at the thought of her long walk to the school along a muddy path. On TV, a woman in a pink outfit was talking about what the weather was going to be like. Želja turned up the volume even though she already knew. Cloudy, rainy, more clouds. Her stomach rumbled loudly. Before her, on a plate, lay two slices of bread spread with ajvar2 and three pieces of cheese next to them. She carefully placed the cheese on the slices and then 2) Ajvar is a paste-like spread made of fried ground peppers (translator’s note).

took a quick bite. She listened to the woman’s forecast for other cities and towns, waiting for the mention of hers. A small town visited by nobody. She dangled her feet under the table, causing one of the slippers to fly off. She fumbled about with her feet to find it. – Happy birthday! Her mum Nataša gave her a smack on her cheek. Želja was chewing nervously. Yesterday she did her best to forget what day it was tomorrow. Tomorrow had come and now it was no use pretending. Her twelfth birthday. A year ago, if she had been asked, she would have said she could hardly wait. But, that was then. Before the accident. She wiped the ajvar off her chin with her sleeve. She wanted to smile, genuinely, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She observed her mum hurriedly getting ready for work. Her large leather bag was on the table. She recalled how a long time ago she loved to shake all its contents down on the carpet and play with Mum’s papers, make-up and other amusing things. Mum pulled up her blouse sleeves briskly. Everything her mum did was brisk and quick. The woman in the pink outfit was still talking about the weather. “The winter seems to be coming sooner than expected. We are in for snowy weather. There is a possibility of sleet in the morning…” The woman was muted. Mum put the remote down on the table. – We are supposed to hear each other. She was watching the woman on TV, trying to lip-read. She seemed to have said ‘cake.’

– How many kids are coming tonight? She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to hear that question. Still, she knew she had no other option. She had to pretend. – I don’t know. Not many. – Well, find out. I don’t want to make too little food, so you kids go hungry. She remembered the crescent rolls and sandwiches from one of her birthday parties. They would always bring out those rolls. That was some kind of a parents’ rule. Well, she wouldn’t have that. She wouldn’t have anything. – Or the food gets wasted. – Never mind the food. I don’t feel like celebrating at all. Mum pressed her lips together. It wasn’t a good sign. She didn’t want to say anything, but Želja knew what was on Mum’s mind. They had already discussed it. Mum thought she should celebrate her birthday, rejoice in it and blow out all the candles. It’s just that she didn’t realise Želja didn’t feel like celebrating without Dad. And no-one could make her do it. – Make sure to take an umbrella. Did you hear me? It’s going to rain. There, it’s already starting. A few drops clung onto the window. Mum kissed her on the cheek again, not so loudly as the first time. – C’mon, cheer up a bit. She clomped out of the room. Želja could clearly hear the door open and close. She chewed up the last bite, and then wiped her mouth with a sleeve of her blouse.

Everything was so different at her last birthday party. A lot of children, laughter, a big fruit cake, Dad playing the violin and telling scary stories. All the children got frightened except her. Every now and then, Mum would pop out of nowhere with her camera. – Nataša, let the kids have fun. – Just one more, just one more. Now, though, Mum feigned happiness and constant haste. No, she wouldn’t join her. Her line of thought was interrupted by the rumbling noise of their old mixer in the kitchen. On top of everything else, her aunt Marija was singing. It’s not that she was singing out of tune, but she would rather not hear her at all. Or, to be honest, see her. Bare tree branches were clearly visible from the kitchen window. Marija’s hand was energetically mixing sponge-cake in a bowl. She was all flushed, and her wet hair was sticking to her face. They may have been sisters, but Mum and Aunt didn’t look alike at all. Mum was older, thin, pale and had dark, almost black hair; Aunt was plump, blonde and, in Želja’s opinion, way too brusque. Mum liked to say it was nice that Marija spoke her mind, but not always and everywhere. Želja agreed with Mum. Aunt rarely paid her own words any mind, not caring whether they were heavy or whether they hurt, she merely poured them out until they ran dry.

– Don’t you sneak around there! – What’s that you’re singing? – Something we sang in a choir. You know I was a solo singer? – What kind of bird is that, Dad? Of course she knew. Aunt always bragged about her singing talent. Dad smiled. – No-one couldblack hit a higher thanto me.touch Not even – A little bird note wanted your mum. Much as she tried. thenosky. But no-one believed was It was use quarrelling with Aunt anditexplaining to feasible. her why she didn’t want her laughed to sing today. She The other birds at her, dipped a finger into the sponge-cake and immediately for no bird flew that high. pulled it out. Aunt clapped her on the hand. She let little bird didn’t listen to them. out But a cry the in protest. – Well, no. have to wait the evening. – You And? Did she for make it? – For your information, I don’t need a cake. What do chance you think, – Aren’t– you by any late forŽelja? school? Želja pouredand water into herto glass slowly He intentionally took the violin started play. and drank it even more slowly. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the sink and a pile of unwashed dishes, one on top of another. She wondered whether Aunt was going to wash them or leave that chore to Mum after all. – C’mon, c’mon, get out of my way. Go away. She wasn’t sure why Aunt was still there. She came over after the accident, “to be there for them”, and now she wouldn’t leave. Perhaps she could make her believe the house was haunted. That would scare her out of her mind. ISBN 978-86-529-0996-4 She smiled at the thought of Aunt fleeing the house and screaming. Still, she couldn’t entertain that much hope.

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