An Anthology of Croatian Literature

Edo Popovic (1957- )

Edo Popović (1957– ) A Croat from Bosnia, Popović has been a student, editor, and journalist in Zagreb, but now is a freelance author. He has one novel—Izlaz Zagreb Jug (Zagreb Exit South, 2003, translated into English in 2005) and several collections of short stories to his credit. The following is an excerpt from his 2004 novella Plesačica iz Blue Bara (Dancer from the Blue Bar), translated by Julienne Eden Bušić and published in Croatian Literature 2004–2005 Catalogue (Zagreb: Centar za knjigu/Croatian Book Center, 2005): 46–47. An Anthology of Croatian Literature 308 A Dancer from the Blue Bar 6. The Weeping Woman with the Russian Accent The Department of Cultural Terrorism was at its lowest point. Why? The crisis, that’s why. There was no work. Fewer and fewer thorns in the side of the government these days. Not even the palest hint of a Chomsky type in these parts. And who was paying the price? Folo. It was a living nightmare! Folo was the only “employee” in the DECULTER, his own office manager, secretary, cleaning woman, everything. The Chief of Police didn’t give a damn about him and the Minister of Finance even less. Otherwise he’d be driving something other than that tin can, wouldn’t he? DECULTER was the thirteenth, or the fourteenth, maybe even the fifteenth… in any case, the least offensive pig of all the other swine in all the other police departments regularly and rapaciously sticking their snouts in the taxpayers’ business, if that wasn’t too pretentious and silly a metaphor. So. Folo was sitting in the office leafing through the newspaper. CATHOLIC LEAGUE ACTIVIST RAPES THIRTEEN CHILDREN DRUNK POLICEMAN RUNS OVER DRUNK BICYCLIST MOBILE PHONE TATTOOED ON HIS BACK JOURNALIST TO MARRY JORDANIAN PRINCE MARADONA BEGINS TO SPEAK AND EAT When the doorbell rang. Folo would have to count back many days to the last time someone showed up on the doorstep of the DECULTER. It was the weeping woman from the funeral. White Rabbit’s sister, was how he had figured her. Yes? Folo said, regarding her. She was confused for a moment, realizing she had seen Folo at the funeral. And it was unclear to him what she was doing here. Was the White Rabbit keeping his, uh, hobby a secret? “Mr. Folo?” she asked. Folo nodded, wondering where that Russian accent came from. “May I come in?” she asked. “Why not?” he said. She was in much better shape than at the funeral, Folo thought, checking her out. “I’m Dalibor’s friend,” she said, her eyes skittering back and forth from Folo’s face to some point on the wall. Edo Popović 309 “Dalibor?” he said, raising his eyes from the perfectly formed breasts under the clingy T-shirt. “Dalibor Funtak,” she said, resting her gaze on Folo’s face. “Oh yeah, of course,” he said, recalling that snitches have civilian names as well as aliases. She stood in anticipation, and Folo realized it would be more polite to ask her to take a seat. But not on the snitch chair the White Rabbit usually sat on, that is, Dalibor Funtak; that seemed a bit inappropriate. “Please,” he said, gesturing toward the wooden snitch chair. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she said. Folo nodded. And that’s not all he was wondering. He was also wondering how she hooked up with Rabbit, how in God’s name they had crossed paths, stuff like that. “I’m a little confused,” she said, “I didn’t expect you to be the guy… well, you know.” “Life is full of surprises,” said Folo. “Dalibor left something for you,” she said, getting right to the point, and took an envelope from her purse and put it on the table. An ordinary, white envelope with a hand written address: Chief Folo, DECULTER, Lastovska 182/4. “He said if anything happened to him, I should give this to you.” “Why didn’t you give it to the police?” Folo asked. “I assume they talked to you.” “Yeah, they did,” she said. She mumbled something about them talking to her a lot more often recently than was normal. “But,” she continued in a strong voice, “Dalibor said I was to give it to you, nobody else. Besides,” she looked at him, “you’re a policeman, too, aren’t you?” “Actually I am,” Folo said...