La Dame sans Camellias 3

The afternoon had been wearing away over the 8th High school in Svetozar Marković street. On the last floor of the building across this tucked in the very bosom of the downtown place, the women had been fussing about flour dusted boards, egg shells and packages of caster sugar while some bike bell outside announced the news delivery at this early morning hour. It was some saint’s red letter day and a lot of cookies had to be baked to bow a respect to a deep-rooted tradition.

”We simply don’t have this…what a pity indeed for it just sounds so cosy: Svečari.” Mia frowned anxiously to make a point. ”We celebrate a name day, yet it’s not the same.” Bisenia was a good listener, a comprehensive one. The kind of warm smiling hearers delighted to grasp the sound of their own thoughts, waiting to recognize them in the floating air around. Sveti Sava and a bunch of very important saints. Oh, they had enough of it to keep thoughts occupied throughout the year.

Flattering her body and peach-pink cheeks, her mid 30’s spilled an auburn patina all over the curves of her plump body to hint a premium vintage to be derived a couple of years later. Life juices had been gathering for decades, breaded carefully by the sun giving generously out what would suit best the fruits of a fertile vine. She was a mild cut. Smooth as a whole milk. Anytime she had to move around the small kitchen of hers it would seem that a touch of cautiousness is needed as if the discretion of a small doll's house had to be constantly maintained intact. Her wavy hair was tied above her ivory neck, neatly attached by a huge hair-clasp, the ones you can’t find anymore at beauty stores. There was a pinch of sea colour in her eyes, just enough to define the two locks forming the frame of her temples. Her robe and embroidered high-heel slippers with fluffy feathers on the top, she wore at home, were able to lock anybody in the middle of the 80’s to the triumphant blow of now distant fanfares. Bisenia was an old town girl. She lived on her own and kept the ladies weekly meetings at the Cvetni trg café like a column in a “Milady’s boudoir” magazine. She was great in all known patisserie and confectionery delights and not quite so good in dealing with men, most of them being complete non-edible losers.

Cherry-taste air flew in from the open balcony door. Street noises dashed in with it. Sounds of impatient moms hushing their babies to sleep hugged the children voices playing in the schoolyard to be disturbed from time to time by the postman’s horn.

“My Elmer Fudd called earlier this morning. I hadn’t told him that you are here. He was suspicious of some man had been staying with me for some time.” Bisenia stayed cool, though the Elmer of hers was a refined pain in the gluteus maximus.

”You don’t say!” Mia loved to put her words in simple old-fashioned style and she amused herself completely with the feeling of opening the drawers of a chest that released cracking sounds and the smell of stale museum air while doing it.

”It was a challenge getting him out of here…having two houses in the outskirts – the preferred area everybody would buy in.” Bisenia’s voice became impatient and curious. Perhaps, he’d better stay downtown. Sounds like he’s not quite willing to get older."

Mia frowned once more at the thought of another one in the will to be left alone…still the town kept entertaining the crowd with sticking Easter decal on both of them. And the escape was everywhere around, not quite to be noticed though.

”…his mother this and his mother that, just go to this mother of yours. Blast it!” Mia was certain that the Elmer hadn’t heard yet these words for the game was in its second half. ”I guess, he likes your cookies. Why not sending him a box? This may stop him coming here eventually.” …the New Year was postponed for another good couple of months or more, still the people outside kept going on with their old worries like winter coats that had to stay on for another week or two before the cherries blooming.

”Would you like to come with me to the cemetery park?" Mia broke the silence unexpectedly thinking to put the tea pot on the stove."Of course, dear." Sitting silently at Vladimir’s grave, talking in her thoughts with him was one possible, yet curious escape, but it might work.