06-V-1973.
On the mayday Dragana came to the eggs (there's a pun there in serbian, as balls are also called eggs), because this is when orthodox easter fell on the same day. Played cards, chatted. Says Zova could have been a frajer if only his mom didn't hold him on such a short chain. In the evening I held a brief meeting in the club. (... 11 word...) Went to watch the fireworks. Mariška came along to wish her luck, she's out to simmer a guy. At Dom the Pa šta onda were playing outside, so there was room inside even in that dark lodge, otherwise reserved for members (I probably meant to say staff). She was one beer ahead of me, so I took a vinjak to make us even. She disagreed, it stinks. Well take some to neutralize the smell. She drank all of it.
About her permission to stay out, says it's Arpi to blame, he doesn't ask for much, returns by ten, then her demands look too much in comparison.
On the way back stumbled upon Kale. Waited fifteen minutes while he walks his girlfriend to her gate (same street, nearer end) then slowly home. A corner before ours some guy greets us, asks "you escorted the chick again?". Turns out it's the same guy with the truck of last night. Says he recognized me as one from šećerana. Kale says "that's a rarer case", and I "I'm rarely in the neighborhood". "Well from the bus... and that one of mine knows you... the whole town knows you. You should just have seen him, extended his step and I know he's from my end, and told her to call her, came to be sorry for the guy."
Then we fiddled with his motorbike, Kale did actually, I just kept company. Or not... who knows what the cost would have been, hadn't I reminded him to pour oil into the transmission. Called it quits at 1:30.
The next day into the (... 38 words...). So when you just stood and watched me when we met, were you looking at my eyes? Well no, it was more the sideburns.
Then I told her my whole history, and how it was with Branka and why I unhooked her, and then we start deciding about the summer. We give each other a vacation. To drum it out, to craze it out, to run our dogs, and then we get together for serious. The plans extended (... 5 words...), didn't mention anything beyond that, if nothing else we'll have nice memories. "My classmates drug themselves on booze and cigarettes, my dad on TV, I get high on you... and when I'm denied a dose I become nasty".
I was so nicely tired, no company anywhere, the walk home took me an hour and a half. We celebrated the Labor day.
On wednesday nothing, had guests from Vršac (now whether it was Aleksandar's or the other uncle's family, didn't write down). On thursday just briefly met at Tekstil after school.
On friday another constructive meeting of newspaper staff, chased Vanji about something, Bilja is writing a bomb of an article, about choir rehearsal. (... 9 words...) Went with the crowd to disco, free entry, poked fun with Grne and Vasa. Voja left Pa šta onda and plays with Omege now, he says the photos were excellent.
On saturday, guard at school. That is, like, we guard the rifles, the shooting is the next day, and we don't even know where the rifles are. And the other two guys, with whom I'm sort of on guard duty, aren't around - they went to the other end of the building to play ping pong with Zova and Sredljak. I sort of stayed alone and hungry, until she came and brought me chocolate with hazelnuts. LML appeared on time. The rifles, old M48s, would be taken from city's civil defence stock the night before, and couldn't be left unguarded. So LML would ask for volunteers to guard the rifles overnight. With him alone in the building with a dozen guys, it's anyone's guess how much would be drunk.
In the morning, 6th, took a pic of LML, as the professor of predvojnička, while he was gathering the guys in the schoolyard before taking them to shooting practice. This happened only once a year, for the seniors (all, boys and girls), and was usually a chance to get drunk beforehand. I published this picture in The Gram, in the famous third issue of 1972/73, with the date in the caption (so this is one of the rare dates I knew from other sources, before getting my diaries from the old house). From what I remember, the guys on the shot are the seniors - I recognize Furcula and the Čestić twins.
LML was, as far as I can remember, the last guy to wear a šuškavac. Not this year, it was sunny, but next year it rained, and he wore it.
Of course, getting to go took a while. I thought it was him, or us, but no, this is just a taste of every vojska of the world: hurry to wait.
The shooting range was out of town once, and then the town came closer, but at least there's just fields behind that hill. The range was in use for another twenty years, and then had to be abandoned, the bullets ricocheted too often. Even if there are no houses behind, there are ploughed fields.
When I finished (two hits of 10 bullets), waited for her to finish too (six). We saw half the crowd gone, let's go too. Horrible heat, we red like lobsters, poured water over ourselves. She's marvelous, barefoot, I made an excellent picture of her. Waiting for the bus we sat on the ground, that is she was sitting and I lied down with my head in her lap. All of young mothers with small children come by and express outrage.
Then I hear that LML was asking for volunteers from specifically my class to carry the targets; now since most are travellers, he singled Sredljak and me out for skipping, promised aces to us. Yeah, half the folks were gone already, he picked us.
In the afternoon my sun stroke found me, slept it over, barely made it out in the evening, saw her when she was getting the ticket, just had time to stuff the cash to her and say "and one for me". I had the new shirt with whirly design, real lightshow. Shook a vinjak each before it got too crowded. We indians, the chief Scrapped Nose and squaw Bare Foot. The tribe, as per Jozda, is to be Prairie Coyotes.
On tuesday, Čombe, Sredljak and I got an ace in predvojnička each. Gavra is now with Bilja (!). He said he needed that, to get serious, said he wasn't some L. to have a girl simmer him for two years for nothing, and the guy returns like what's the butterflying for as if you hit the jackpot on the lottery, well let it be a jackpot but I'd like to see when did he ever win his money back".
On wednesday (9th) finally the rain. We had a systematic checkup, that's what they do in first and third grade. I weigh 72kg and am 181 cm (+2, -3) cm tall. Someone in Naftagas drew the proper, technically correct header for "The Gram" as per my design. After school we went to scout the pass behind the post office, whether a third exit may work, because it's a jungle in there, reed grows, just 100m from the centre. Not good as a building lot, because it's the old riverbed, it would have to be filled and tamped a lot, and the property relationships are who knows how. Interesting place but posessed by stray dogs.
On friday I went nuts that dad didn't wake me up, so I was late for the meeting at the printery. In the evening dined at Jozda's, then to theatre, a vaudeville by Bernard Shaw, Rade Brankov's biggest (and possibly the only big) role. He played an allegedly dead butler, whose ghost haunts the young heir who's being framed for murder. He'd just drone the same text over and over in deadpan flat voice, playing dead.
After the show we went to the green market (vacant at the time) and sat there. (... 53 words...)
These months I visited Dom often, for various reasons. At times, as the official photographer (which was more the case last year), sometimes on club's affairs, sometimes the youth org, so I got acquainted with lots of important personae - I had the chance to talk with Radivoj Šajtinac a few ttimes, I knew a few prominent actors, some poets of the then young generation, even had a printers' proof of the latest issue of „Ulaznica“ (entry ticket, local literary magazine published by the library) with the latest fashion scream, graphic poetry, which was more of a play with typography and shape of the verse than any skill in saying anything, and now there was also an extra edition of „Panorama of young creators“ („creator“ being anyone producing content), which I must have somewhere but can't possibly find it. Even Vanji had two poems there, I remember one of them being titled „Audaces fortuna iuvat, mért nincs pénzük mosóporra“ (fortune favors the bold because they didn't have money for detergent). Of course I didn't speak hungarian, but she translated some bits for me, I remember just the repeated mentions of „glasses, glasses“ and how I wondered whether he had anyone alcoholic among the near and dear.
Graphically, „Ulaznica“ was a miracle, of what can be achieved with all the technical limitations of our printery. Messy, not much better than mimeographed, and yet it had that avantgarde smack, felt like part of a larger movement towards better, freer, prettier. Don't know how I got dragged into it, guess as a photographer and for appearing everywhere. It pleased me to an extent, and also uneasy beyond the extent, wasn't sure that I had anything grand to say there.
In this issue I find it a bit funny that a John Wayne [Džon Vejn] is mentioned, because each time I see that name I have to remind myself tha it's not the old rightwinger cuntmouth who acted in western[ movie]s, but some tenth character. Few years later it will become clear that this John Wayne was quite popular here. I even remember some of his verse from the „poem without the main verb“, where there's no verb in any tense, it's all gerunds, and despite all that linguistic acrobatics, he managed to say it.
Mentions: Aleksandar Zarin, Arpad Gunaroši (Arpi), Biljana Lajković (Bilja), Borko Bošković (Furcula), Branka, Čestić, David Jamaček (Kale), Dom omladine, Dragana Vitas (Dragana), frajer, Gavrilo Taroški (Gavra), Gradivoj Sredljev (Sredljak), Grne, Joško Čobzanin (Čombe), Jovan Zdanić (Jozda), LML, Omege, Pa šta onda, predvojnička, šećerana, šuškavac, The Gram, Vasa Šančev, Vilmoš Baranji (Vanji), vinjak, vojska, Zdravko Smetovački (Zova), in serbian
4-I-2012 - 10-VII-2026