Dan Djurdjevic

Ko je ta stara, tuzna zena? (Who is that old, sad woman?) Koga ceka pored reke? (For whom does she wait by the river?) Ceka momka da dodje po nju (She waits for her lover to come for her) Ona je tuzna, tuzna Izabela (She is sad, sad Isabella) Bijo je letnji dan kada su se upoznali (It was a summer's day when they first met) Izabela mlada dama, a Marko roda ciganskog (Isabella a young lady, and Marko from a gypsy family) Kaze: "Marko ti si mi mnogo zgodan" (She says: "Marko I find you very handsome") Kaze: "Bela moja ti si san" (He says: "Bella my love, you're like a dream") "Ajde da se sad vencamo" ("Come let us get married") "Moram ocu reci plan" ("I must tell Father of our plan") Kada otac sazna, on kaze: "Bre!" (When father finds out he says: "Hey!") "Bas takvu uniju pristacu ne!" ("This kind of union I will never allow!") "Molim te oce, daj mi blagosl

It was late and I was tired, standing behind the bar polishing glasses, watching the baggy-eyed patrons leaning on the counter, plumes spiraling up from their glowing cigarette ends, the smell of stale, end-of-the week beer wafting with the smoke like rising damp. I was going to call for last drinks when this customer walks in; a dark-looking fella, angular, chiseled features partly hidden by his overcoat drawn up at the lapels, a fedora tilted to one side over hooded eyes. He sidles over to the bar where he pulls up a stool, sits himself down and glances sideways before he looks up at me and speaks in a clipped European accent, a mere hiss above the background hum of the voices: "The name's Descartes." "Can I get you a drink Mr Descartes?" I ask, but he snorts, leans back on his stool and shakes his head, a sad smile creasing one corner of his mouth. "I think not," he says. I reach up to hang one of the wine glasses on the overhead rack and hear mysel