my old man killed himself.
he went to work one morning with some rope in his pocket.
he was last seen at 5.45 a.m. on his way to the bus terminal.
my old man was crazy and reckless.
will he like me? what do you say? tonight, you know, there will be no more stalling or any more of those long  looks. look at me. what do you say? is that it?
he took the bus to the countryside and hung himself in some sort of a thicket.
prudent son of a bitch. he got off the bus one stop earlier and crossed the river barefooted to make sure that we couldn't track him.
we were searching for him for a month and five days.
we wanted to believe that he was alive and crazy somewhere out there. we wanted to believe he lived someplace.
stinking. unwashed. unconscious. alive.
the fire truck was speeding down the street when you asked me if i loved you for the first time.
of course i love you.
but how should i know what my old man will have in store for us tomorrow.

a month and five days of agony.
we tried all the tricks, we even searched for him under the bed.
we almost took apart the TV too. maybe he hid in the cathodes.
one morning, my mom woke her and his brothers. and my brother as well.
she sent them to the thicket and told them: this is the last time. one more time and it's over.
my brother smelt him. his death.
the phone rang and i knew what was coming.
i told her: it's all right. we found him. it was the only thing we needed.
my mom cried. i know, you didn't deserve it, but... it happened.
i'm sorry i left you a month and five days ago and i'm sorry i wasn't good enough for you.
i cry when i remember my brother who found him.
his head, severed from his body. and that smell.
he wore my brother's jacket and my watch.
three days later, they gave me back that watch with worms all over it. i studied it in the bathroom.
my old man lived inside those worms, and i was able to talk to him.
it was creepy. he'd never been whiter. he turned into a worm.
i told him: it's all right. i told him: you're really crazy.
i told him: i'll forget about you. soon. i told him: i'm sorry, but i have to do this.
i quashed all those worms, i boiled the watch for a long time.
i cried.
my old man killed himself. he lost control of his own life.
my brother found him, and i smashed the room's doors yelling that i won't go to his funeral.
my brother stood next to me during the funeral procession. i never loved him more than i did at that moment.
my mom said: screw him and may he rest in peace.
not a day goes by that i don't find myself thinking how things would've gone for us a month and six days later.

Translation by Doris Dresto

moj stari se ubio.

jedno jutro je otišao na posao s komadom konopca u džepu.

zadnji put su ga vidjeli u pet i četrdeset i pet ujutro na putu za autobusni kolodvor.

moj stari je bio lud i nepromišljen.

hoću li mu se svidjeti? što ti kažeš? večeras, znaš, neće više biti onih dugih pogleda i zavlačenja. pogledaj me. što kažeš? je l' to to?

otišao je na selo autobusom i objesio se u nekoj šikari.

promišljeni kurvin sin. izašao je stanicu prije i prešao je rijeku bosim nogama da mu ne uđemo u trag.

tražili smo ga mjesec i pet dana.

htjeli smo vjerovati da je živ i lud negdje. htjeli smo vjerovati da živi negdje.

smrdljiv. neopran. nesvjestan. živ.

vatrogasna kola su projurila cestom kad si me prvi put pitao je l' te volim.

naravno da te volim.

ali kao da ja znam što će nam moj stari prirediti sutra.

mjesec i pet dana agonije.

sve smo trikove isprobali, tražili smo ga i pod krevetom.

umalo da nismo i televiziju rastavili. možda se skrio u katodama.

stara je jedno jutro probudila svoju i njegovu braću. i mog brata.

poslala ih je u šikaru i rekla im je: ovo je zadnji put. još jednom i gotovo.

moj brat ga je namirisao. njegovu smrt.

telefon je zazvonio i ja sam znala što nas čeka.

rekla sam joj: dobro je, našli smo ga. samo nam je to i trebalo.

stara je plakala. znam ja, nisi ti to zaslužila, ali... dogodilo se.

žao mi je što sam te ostavila mjesec i pet dana kasnije i što ti nisam bila dovoljno dobra.

ja plačem kad se sjetim brata koji ga je našao.

njegovu glavu odvojenu od tijela. i taj miris.

nosio je bratovu jaknu i moj sat.

vratili su mi taj sat s crvima tri dana kasnije. proučavala sam ga u zahodu.

moj stari je živio u tim crvima i ja sam mogla razgovarati s njim.

bilo je jezivo. nikad nije bio bjelji. pretvorio se u kolutićavca..

rekla sam mu: dobro je. rekla sam mu: ti si stvarno lud.

rekla sam mu: zaboravit ću te. brzo. rekla sam mu: oprosti, ali ja ovo moram napraviti.

zgazila sam sve te crve. sat sam dugo kuhala u kipućoj vodi.

plakala sam.

moj stari se ubio. izgubio je kontrolu nad svojim životom.

moj brat ga je našao, a ja sam razbila vrata sobe vrišteći kako mu neću otići na sprovod.

moj brat je stajao pored mene u povorci. nikad prije ga nisam voljela k'o tad.

moja stara je rekla: jebi ti njemu mater i pokoj mu duši.

nema dana kad ne pomislim što bi se bilo dogodilo s nama od mjesec i šest dana kasnije