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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 34 | volume VI | September-October, 2003



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 34September-October, 2003

Judge Resoundson’s understanding

p. 1
Srđan Papić

    You must understand me, your honour. You must. You, at least. Everybody tells me that I had no reason to kill him; that I am insane; if their mouth doesn’t say it, their eyes do. Everyone’s, the warders’, and my lawyer’s, and… and everyone’s. But I had to. It was him, it was him who always placed himself between me and her. I do understand, your honour, that she belongs to everyone, that she, so virginally white (oh, so virginally white, your honour!) could be touched, could be felt by everyone, that she could be theirs day and night; that they could take her to bed whenever they wanted. Anyone could do it. Anyone at all!
    I had to, your honour. I had to reach her by all means. And she was mine once. Just like that, in passing; I got to know her only cursorily, superficially; at first I found her interesting and nothing more; I didn’t try to penetrate deeper, to scratch under the surface. Our encounter was very brief. Afterwards… afterwards everyone went his own way.
    But, she started to visit my dreams, first from time to time, then more and more often and in the end always (I dreamt of her this very night, your honour, the wind was playing joyfully with her, she was twisting, she was rustling, oh, your honour, it was so sweet a rustle!), I dreamt of her night after night. Repeatedly. Incessantly.
    I made up my mind to seek her out anew. And then he interposed himself. Bearded (oh, it’s not such an amicable beard as is yours, your honour), conceited, he placed himself between me and her. For days, for days did he repeat that she was absent, that she was here or there, at this or that man’s place, everywhere she was, everywhere.
    I feared, your honour, I feared what would remain of her after so many touches, after so many looks. I do understand, I understand very well that she is… everyone’s in a way, that we all lay claim on her. But, your honour, I had no claim on her. The bearded man was excusing himself, and finding pretexts for me day in day out; and I would be standing in front of his office like a beggar, listening to his idle phone conversations, he promised to everyone that he would find what they needed, what they missed. And it was

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