18-I-2017.
At 6:00 Slavica called to say dad died. She already called the ambulance and asked for permission to dress him, approved. The ambulance folks have the habit of looking for any signs of foul play, which is why she didn't call them the first day, nor the second, until the alcohol from his body vanished. And then, as expected, they said they weren't coming, there's nothing for them to do - fine, but the call was logged and recorded.
They came the usual two hours later, maybe less. Then I had to wait for about half an hour until they returned to their HQ downtown, so I could pick up the paperwork. They had exactly one parking spot left, lucky. The paperwork was easy, they did their thing within 20 minutes (well same as when mom died). I also got the permission to bury, and took that to the city funeral services. I know there are private guys out there who may be cheaper, but these guys I know - even know two of their programmers (Željko and another guy from my college). Surprisingly, it's far better organized now, I don't need to go to the matricular office to get him written in the book of deceased, they'll do it. I did need the latest retirement check, which is no check at all - just the most recent bank statement which would show a payment from the retirement fund, so they'd get the refund from the retirement fund. The fund covers he first 35000 RSD of the funeral cost, so I paid only the remaining 5400 (picked a better coffin). The bank is just two blocks away (on the same square where the remnants of DBA are, underground, by sdk), and the cerberus there told me to go ahead of the line for this kind of emergency. But there was already another lady with the same situation, so I let her have it first; takes only a minute anyway.
Amazingly how many people die - the ordinal number at the emergency was 75, and they say this doesn't count those who die in the hospital or the nursing home.
When I got back (being absent less than an hour, amazing), the guys from the funeral services came to take him to the freezer. He straightened up, back to his original height, was taller than me again. By his wish, he will be buried with beard and a šajkača (the traditional serbian military cap) and I guess also a kokarda (the royal army emblem, also used by četniks). His only remark was that the hairdresser had trimmed his eyebrows, so they weren't the regular bushy.
They put dad into the coffin (the exact kind I ordered), then carried it into the van and that was it. Paja went and posted the parta (the black framed piece of print announcing a death) on the gate, the nearest lamppost on the corner, at the shop where dad used to go, at the next shop's corner (they have some kind of messageboard on it - same corner where I loitered in 1968) and one at the local community center. After he returned, we split for the day. Took one neighbor along, Zina's dad (he's got the same car as we, but of a different brand - again a twin just like the last car I had in the US), to lead me through dealing with the church. Dad, as an old communist, turned back to church of his childhood for the last twenty years. I never had any contact with them so I needed a guide. We went to their shop at the russian church on the former green market, now just a parking lot, and brought along dad's membership card with the last membership fees noted and stamped. It turned out it was the older one, covering up to 2008 or so. The lady there tried to locate him in her books, found 2015 but couldn't find 2014 which seems to be the requirement for the discount (8000RSD instead of 10000). I squirted just two caustic comments - "How much does it cost not to have to come here twice" and "Surely you have all this here in the computer, it'll have all the data in a minute". The answer to the latter was "the computer is only for the cameras". Great. So I paid only 8000 anyway. The neighbor promised to bring the other card the next day.
He said the cashier lady previously worked in the same company where he did and she embezzled some substantial amount and did jail time for it. This is, thus, penance work, and again she is still too close to others' money - how come we have evidence of payment for 2014 and she doesn't? This means the cash entered the shop but not the books.
The neighbor drove his way (in his Poozhoe 206, which is the twin of saxo, just like the Matrix was a twin of Chevrolet Vibe).
From there I drove back to kantina, presently the location of Debela mačka, to arrange for the lunch (actually, daća). Dropped by the house, found the right membership card and left it in neighbor's mailbox (which would be some kind of offense in US, IIRC, you don't mess with others' mailboxes, want to deliver junk mail, pay the USPS).
I went home and did pretty much nothing the rest of the day, except going through dad's phone list and calling everybody. Just enjoyed seeing Neša and Anita around. Made more photos in the evening. They are both so cute. She's almost walking, needs to be held by one hand and loses balance here and there, but it's far better than a month ago when she was very wobbly.
Actually I slept for half an hour and then took the two paper slips where dad listed the phone numbers - exactly the list to call now. aunt Milica was ill and couldn't come, neighbors mostly knew already and friends kind of suspected. The only one who burst into whining was uncle Staja... probably because of that acacia patch which he now can't sell for a while. He didn't sound too sober.
Called čiča Rada's son, too, said he was out in the country, drives a truck, returns in three days, would have come otherwise. His mom called half an hour later, with the same pleasant voice I remember from when I was a kid. To hear me, to express condolences, to ask about us.
Two weeks later he called again, to say čiča Rada died. The incredible stubornness of serbian spite. Is it possible that it was the only thing that kept him alive?
Mentions: Anita Jennifer Berger (Anita), aunt Milica, daća, DBA, Debela mačka, Kantina, Nenad Berger (Neša), Paja Čkaljević, Poozhoe, Radomir Sredljević (čiča Rada), saxo, sdk, Slavica Istra, uncle Staja, Zina, Željko Popov, in serbian
27-II-2017 - 4-X-2025