Singer in the Night

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Olja Savicevic. Singer in the Night

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Part One

LETTERS TO LOUD LOVERS

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I wasn’t angry. Joe Pironi went to the toilet to get a sponge and paper to wipe up the dog’s pee, but since he was taking his time, I used paper handkerchiefs and water from the kitchen tap. In passing, strategically, I opened a few drawers where Gale’s things ought to have been, in case I could somewhere catch sight of the boat’s log, but they were empty. I stuffed his writing outfit into my bag, deciding I had a right to it (as his former wife, my dear, I could always try that line). Corto followed me with his little pink tongue out. Unlike big dogs, which filled me with confidence, I’ve always been afraid of small dogs as of all other hysterics … I wagged my finger at him, opened the door, summoned the lift. Although it was the ground floor.

Maybe I could have knocked on Diklić’s door on the first floor, but I didn’t feel like it. I was a bit high, peed-on, sweaty and hungry and not in a very good mood, and the chances of some zealous chair of the tenants’ council passing those incriminating letters over to me were, even without all the aforementioned, minimal. (What madness, who on earth would run away because of a bunch of letters.)

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