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Slobodan Selenić, Timor Mortis

1) The narrator is starting to write a book containing all he has learned from Stojan Blagojević over the last three and a half years. 2) It is October 13, 1944 according to the new calendar and October 30 according to the old calendar. The narrator is alone with Blagojević. 3) Gunfire can be heard from Avala as Belgrade hides in basements without electricity, water, food or news, shaking and hoping. An hour ago when the shooting intensified, Blagojević opened his eyes for the last time and looked towards Avala.

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Evelin Đilvesi
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615 views2 pages

Slobodan Selenić, Timor Mortis

1) The narrator is starting to write a book containing all he has learned from Stojan Blagojević over the last three and a half years. 2) It is October 13, 1944 according to the new calendar and October 30 according to the old calendar. The narrator is alone with Blagojević. 3) Gunfire can be heard from Avala as Belgrade hides in basements without electricity, water, food or news, shaking and hoping. An hour ago when the shooting intensified, Blagojević opened his eyes for the last time and looked towards Avala.

Uploaded by

Evelin Đilvesi
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Slobodan Seleni, Timor mortis

-Timor mortis = the fear of death disturbs me


-Illustrissimus oslovnjavanje: presvetli, preuzvieni
Translation:

The book I am starting to write in this moment, will contain all the
knowledge that I have gathered in the last three and a half years
about the old Serb, Stojan Blagojevi. I am not quite sure what I
want to achieve by retelling the events which have fulfilled our
long, occupational days and nights. I know, however, since an
hour ago I know for sure, that I have to write a book.
Therefore I am writing.
It is ten minutes until midnight, on Friday, the 13 th of October
according to the new, the 30th according to the old calendar. The
year of 1944. We are alone. Illustrissimus (His Excellency)
Blagojevi and me. The windows, covered with blue paper and
cloths, do not leak to us at all the moonful nights, and the candle
flame which is simultaneously trembling above his pale forehead

and my notebook, makes the room remind me of a cell of a


monarch, of course, a sinful, just deceased patriarch...
Somewhere from Avala, behing my back, from the direction of
ukarica and Banjica, a gunfire is heard. Belgrade is, hidden in
basements and unsafe shelters, without electricity, without water,
without food and latest news, shaking and hoping. An hour ago,
when single shootings started growing into a monotonous, truly
dangerous sound of a cannonade, Illustrissimus opened his eyes,
for a last time, and looked right through me, in the direction of
Avala.

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