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Transilvanija.
Bez ikakve pozlate. Samo
najjednostavniji zemljani
oker. Neπto malo smeapplee
boje. Malo zelene.
Tri jednostavna lika πto
sede za stolom, poput tri
opuπtena seljaka u kasno
sunËano popodne, pred
nekom seoskom crkvom,
negde u planinama, i
nakon uspeπno
obavljanog posla i
oni se oseÊaju dobro.
O, Bobe, kako je to bila
krasna slika! Ne znam
koliko sam dugo onde
stajala, ali u jednom
trenutku onaj stari
gospodin odjednom se
pojavio iza mene i rekao
mi: Prekrasna, zar ne?
Odgovorila sam: Stvarno
je krasna. Onda mi je on
ispripovedao priËu o toj
ikoni. Kupljena je
sedamdesetih godina od
nekog ruskog emigranta.
StruËnjak koji ju je kupio
dobio ju je jeftino. Na njoj
su bili neki blesavi
ruæiËasto-plavi anappleeli iz
dvadesetog veka. On je
ikonu kupio, uklonio je
prvi sloj i ispod njega
otkrio Trojstvo.
Ekspertizom je ustanovljeno
da je ikona iz 15. veka, ali
je joπ uvek neizvesno
njeno poreklo ∑ ko ju je
naslikao i gde. Natpis na
vrhu je slovenski. Postoji
nekakav konsenzus da
potiËe iz severne
Transilvanije (danaπnje
Rumunije), poπto je taj
kraj Ëuven po dobroj πkoli
lokalnih æivopisaca.
Moæda. Onda me je stari
gospodin upitao: ‘©ta vi
mislite, odakle je?’ Ne
razmiπljajuÊi, i sama
zaËuappleena svojim hitrim
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proved that it was from the 15th century, but the origin, where
and by whom it was made, is still disputed.
The inscription at the top is Slavic. There is some sort of consensus
that it originated in northern Transylvania (nowadays
Romania) since that region is well known for its good native
school of icons. Maybe. Then the old gentleman asked me: ‘What
do you think, where it comes from?’ And without thinking, surprising
myself with my prompt answer, absolutely sure, I said:
‘The Balkans’. Some monastery in the mountains of Bosnia,
Serbia or Bulgaria, far away from any censorship, some monk
nicely and freely painting what his eyes saw, transcending his
inner peace and unity, free of any worry that some stupid patriarch
will punish him for not respecting dogma & the canon.
What I now find interesting is that in that moment I
expressed my idea about the Balkans instantaneously, while for
days I had been struggling to define it for myself. On the way
back, in the train, again nicely alone in a luxurious compartment,
I wrote the draft of my /essay?/ text on the Balkans with
only one idea in my mind: not to add to that mountainous subject,
but to subtract something from the mountain of stereotypes
and dubious histories attached to it. But, it will have to
wait till I am back from Belgrade, to revisit it and make it final.
This morning I woke up and figured out that, finally, I am
in the mood to go to Belgrade. That I am less afraid. And that is
Bob ∑ good and proper. What is the purpose of journey if you do
not enjoy it in advance?! Besides, I hate it when I am afraid. It is
a humiliating state of mind… 1
Nakon ovog pisma otputavala sam doista u Beograd. Iz
Beograda sam se vratila u Mastriht, kuÊi, glave pune misli koje se
nisu dale tako lako dovesti u red. Moj rodni grad uËinio mi se
nalik staroj knjizi, mnogo puta Ëitanoj a nikada do kraja
proËitanoj, a ja nalik nekome ko uporno lista stranice te knjige,
nemoÊan da joj prozre sadræaj i smisao. Sem moæda u snu u
kome sam odsanjala Behemota, dvostruko Ëudoviπte od koga
sam se spasla u zadnji Ëas, bacivπi se u nekakvu reku koja me
odnela dalje...
Moja poseta Beogradu dovela je u sumnju i moje sopstvene
reËi o Balkanu. Draft teksta koji sam pomenula u pismu dragom
prijatelju iz Oklahome uËinio mi se samo delimiËno taËnim,
samo polovinom istine, onom ugodnijom, onom koja smiruje i
proπlosti daje nekakav smisao. Tekst o Balkanu je govorio o kilometrima
i kilometrima oslikanih zidova, izvezenih platana, o