Nothing, Battalion!

The other day, after the play ended pad, in the Bitef theater, more precisely in the foyer, which until recently, thanks to illegal expropriation, belonged to Maria Milošević and her turbo-dance club, and now represents only the remains (painted pink walls, pulled out sockets and on the ceiling - a disco ball), some high school audiences come out , and one man begins his sermon.

Small talk, goes something like this:

- Cocoa th vi examiner kad disappointed bring da looks anti-Serbian propaganda, kao what je ova show?! - that's what a guy in a denim jacket says to a woman, apparently a professor, who brought the class to the play

- What, what tu it is not u reduction? – asks the professor politely

- Nothing it is not u reduction, ovo je show against Of Serbia i Serbian people! - that would actually be a pleonasm within the worldview of the one in the jacket, Serbia and the Serbian people should be one for him, but the professor, probably Serbian, keeps silent about the grammar, the denim jacket continues - Better bi bilo da lead disappointed da they look authentic value, kao na primer the play o to the general I won't!

- Everyone ima law na my opinion - she is still a decent teacher, but I can't stand it

- A why je, please vessel, ovo anti-Serbian show? - I ask just to argue. Jakna, on the contrary, speaks calmly.

- You see, da VAM I will explain ... - the children discreetly, one by one, run away from the foyer, as if from a boring class - ... ja se hobbyist i deal conspiracies... - says the jacket nicely, and I cut him off rudely

- Hobbyist, exactly rest. A you have a li vi i profession? - I ask, and the argument does not start.

- Imam - answers - ja se i deal by traffic...

- I'm driving, great. Pa what se wave ne deal with by traffic, nego you are struggling people po halls - I'm arguing with myself, the jacket looks at me shrewdly, I continue - That's it bi exactly bilo patriotic, da neko finally Wednesday traffic u this one the country...

- Wait, wait, da some vi ... - so the jacket says my name.

- jesam, what, will you da me you beat? - I get in his face, and I'm totally counting on the strength of the guys who work at Bitef, the jacket slips away and he politely asks me - Say it mi samo one thing. Da li th vi Serbian woman?

- Ne pada mi na Pamet da I answer na to Question – imitating Brecht at the FBI hearing.

- Yes li or some? - calmly insists the man from Nedic

- Ma i won't da VAM I answer na such Question! -

- Yes or some? -

- You hear what ti I say, ne I answer na nationalist classification, je the me you understand… -

- I understand. That's it je Zato what some Serbian woman. That's it je Zato what th Jewish woman... - I'm sure there was a little "j" - ... i to what vi doing je usually Jewish planting! - finishes the jacket, read Nikolaja, so he doesn't look at me anymore, and I shout

- Barabo one anti-Semitic, sram da te will be! - I scream, and the jacket laughs, then those guys start dragging me, I yell, I want to fight, the jacket only looks at the situation with disdain from a height - Shame da te will be!!!- I shout once more, and I am ashamed.

And then nothing, we all go home.

The next day, in another theater, Atelier 212, I watch a play Tulumbus. Personally, I think she's very brave and I'm amazed that critics find her vulgar. Of course it is vulgar, simple and wild, a family from New Belgrade burns an Albanian in the oven, kills each other, hates and spits, curses are only forgiven, simpletons of all kinds, supreme disgust and disgust with the world. And people laugh, giggle and joke, mostly to themselves, without realizing it, the snotty secretaries from some profitable company, who put dead handcuffs around their necks and went to the Theater, even though they don't look exactly like Brigita Dupe, the heroine from the stage, which issmoked my loud wires", although they don't publicly say what Mrs. Dupe says, they think the same thing, especially when the scene of the bombing of Belgrade comes up. Because, in the scene when the sirens are heard, and everyone sits around the table and trembles in fear for their own backsides, they listen to the whistling of the missiles and wait for the explosive impact, breathing a sigh of relief every time it didn't hit their dining room and still say, after the loud explosion: "Nothing, Batàjnica!” with that famous short-cut on "a". Nothing, Batàjnica, it doesn't matter, let them rock Batàjnica, it's not our place, Batàjnica has no people, only two or three settlements around, one Roma, I remember it perfectly, so what, Batàjnica is not us!

I'm watching the play, I'm laughing my loudest, and I'm thinking what if Jakna was here tonight? Would he rise from the darkness of the hall and rush to "kill government i finished thing"that his Serbs present to him as if they were cattle and not people, that they don't care about other people's concerns, that they don't care about other people's plight, that they are vile and disgusting, "you are kao i Shiptari", that they are ready to respond to violence only with the same team, that they are sanctimonious and not in solidarity, that their leggings and trainers are national costumes and that "exciting near holes" (as Kovačević/Radmilović would say, and that would not be "simple" and "vulgar", but "authentic"), I think, would Jakna understand what he was looking at, or would he rejoice with the rest of the world, waving his hand on "Nothing, Batajnica", and after a fun evening went home satisfied, to study Jewish conspiracies, because he is on sick leave, so let others handle the traffic.

A few days later I return by plane from Vienna. The plane should be JAT's, it should be a plane in general. Nevertheless, a battered aircraft is waiting for me with Air Srpska written on it, Goca Tržan is blaring inside, as in the modern version of the Krstić Firma bus, singing "stopwatch" from the speaker, how he is going to chop off someone's head, because he did something wrong to her, the plane was late for take off, so we listened almost the whole "material"It's wintery and unsafe inside, come on, at least we landed alive. Again, like an addict, I call the Traffic Jacket in my mind. I'm not entirely sure that aviation is his domain of traffic, but still, would that man, who spreads interpersonal hatred with impunity, be proud if he were to fly this plane, our entire traffic, because the magic word "Serbia" is written on it? Or would he, as a true patriot, still feel a little ashamed that Serbian traffic is bad, Serbian people are poor and dumbed down, Serbian children are drugged by Serbian turbo-dance, leaving behind only ruins, pulled out plugs and nothing more?

And I think, before I go crazy, obsessively attached to the man in the jacket, whose view of the world, today, at this very moment, after the famous fifth of October, whose opinion would meet with the greater approval of Our People - his or mine?