RAŠA TODOSJEVIĆ

English version

Gott liebt die Serben, 1997   Für Inge Hartmann ANGY Vor einigen Tagen besuchte ich Angy – so nennen Marinela und ich meine Mutter, meine Andjelka. Kaum war ich angekommen, da gab mir Angy ohne Umschweife zu verstehen, sie hätte keinen Pfennig im Haus, was wohl, so denke ich, heißen sollte, es wäre nicht schlecht, wenn ich ihr – ohne Rückgabe – ein paar Tausend leihe, „natürlich, bis sie Rente bekommt“. Ich sagte ihr, sie solle sich keine Sorgen machen, ich hätte etwas Geld bei mir, aber ich frage mich doch, wie sie es geschafft habe, die siebzig Mark klein zu kriegen, die ich ihr vor zwei oder drei Tagen geliehen hatte. Angy gab notgedrungen zu, sie hätte diese siebzig „Doitschmark“ eigentlich nicht angerührt, sondern gedächte sie morgen zur Bank zu bringen und dort in Euro umzutauschen. Mir war wirklich nicht klar, was meine gute Angy, dieses winzige und außerdem gänzlich kahlköpfige arme Geschöpf – mit der geringen Summe paneuropäischen Gelds anfangen wollte. Während ich mich im Zimmer umsah und darüber nachdachte, wie ich ihr auf anständige Art diese unangenehme Frage betreffs der Finanzen stellen sollte, sagte Angy, sie werde ernsthaft damit beginnen, ausländische Valuta zu sparen, weil sie vorhabe, sich ein Grab zu kaufen. Es falle ihr gar nicht ein, zu enden wie Mozart, dass die Leute sie begraben wie den letzten Dreck, recht und schlecht, auf Staatskosten – egal wo. Sie sei keine Katze, dass sich die Schinder um ihre irdischen Überreste kümmerten. Sie wolle keinen Sack und keinen Kalk; sie wünsche sich ein bescheidenes, aber anständiges Begräbnis. Außerdem sei wohl auch mir bekannt, Avram habe um keinen Preis eingewilligt, dass ihm dieser Zar, dieser Efron, die Wiese und die Höhle schenkt, sondern er habe immer wieder aufdringlich vor Zeugen beteuert, er werde selber, aus eigener Tasche, wie es sich gehört, die dreißig Silberlinge für die Grabstelle bezahlen, in der er und Sara begraben werden sollten. Sie sei eine alte Frau, und es sei wohl verständlich, dass sie an die letzten Dinge denke, besonders jetzt, da in Serbien die „Trichinellose“ herrsche. Morgens verzehrst du eine schöne Schweinswurst, und am Nachmittag ist´ s mit dir aus und vorbei. Ich versuchte ihr zu erklären, eine gewöhnliche Grabstelle in Belgrad koste fünftausend DM. Vielleicht auch mehr. Das seien etwa zweieinhalbtausend Euro oder hundertfünfzigtausend Dinar. Wenn sie beispielsweise anfinge, jeden Monat fünfundzwanzig Euro auf die hohe Kante zu legen, dann brauche sie acht Jahre, um dieses Geld zu sparen. Sie solle mir zuliebe davon ablassen, denn wenn sie sterbe, dann kümmere es sie sicherlich nicht so sehr, wer das Geld für ihr Grab ausspuckt. Ich oder dieser Staat oder die norwegische Regierung, das werde ihr dann ganz egal sein. Angy meinte, ihr ginge etwas Ähnliches durch den Kopf, aber sie wollte trotzdem, dass wir beide wie vernünftige Leute im Familienkreis die Sache mit dem Grab irgendwie ins Reine bringen. Raša Todosijević 22.01.2002 Übersetzung aus dem Serbischen: Astrid Philippsen

ANGIE

For Inge Hartmann

A few days ago I visited Angie – that’s how Marinela and I call my mother, Andjelka. As soon as I arrived, Angie plainly informed me that she had not a penny in the house, meaning; I supposed, that it would come useful if I could lend here - irretrievably – a few thousand; «of course, until the pension arrived». I told her not to worry, I had some money on me, but was still wondering how on earth she had managed to spend the seventy German marks I had lent her a couple of days earlier. Angie unwillingly confessed she had not touched the seventy Germans but planned to take them to the bank the next day and exchange for euros.

I really could not understand what my dear Angie - the tiny and completely bald old woman – could undertake with such a trivial amount of pan-European money. While I was staring around trying to think of a nice way to ask that unpleasant financial question, Angie said she had seriously decided to start saving foreign currency and buy herself a grave. She had no intention of ending up like Mozart, buried by barbarians as a pauper, at the expense of the state – anywhere. She is not a cat to be picked up by a dog-catcher, no bags or lime for her, but a modest, decent burial. I should know myself how Abraham would not let that emperor, Ephron, give him a field and a cave, but insisted, in front of witnesses, that he should fairly pay the thirty silver coins for the grave he intended for his Sarah and himself. She is an old woman, said Angie, and it is all right for her to think of such ultimate matters, particularly now, when trichinosis was raging throughout Serbia. You eat a good pork sausage in the morning, and perish in the afternoon.

I tried to explain that a simple grave in Belgrade cost five thousand German marks. Probably more: Equaling twenty-five hundred euro or one hundred and fifty thousand dinars. If, for example, she put aside twenty-five euro each month, she would need eight years to collect the sum. I advised her to forget about the saving, once dead she would certainly not worry about who paid for her grave: Myself, this state, or the government of Norway. It would be all the same to her then.

Angie admitted her thoughts were also moving in that direction, but wanted the two of as to talk about it, as family, as reasonable people, and somehow clear up the matter of the grave.

Raša Todosijević

January 22nd 2002

A few days ago I visited Angie – that’s how Marinela and I call my mother, Andjelka. As soon as I arrived, Angie plainly informed me that she had not a penny in the house, meaning; I supposed, that it would come useful if I could lend here - irretrievably – a few thousand; «of course, until the pension arrived». I told her not to worry, I had some money on me, but was still wondering how on earth she had managed to spend the seventy German marks I had lent her a couple of days earlier. Angie unwillingly confessed she had not touched the seventy Germans but planned to take them to the bank the next day and exchange for euros.

I really could not understand what my dear Angie - the tiny and completely bald old woman – could undertake with such a trivial amount of pan-European money. While I was staring around trying to think of a nice way to ask that unpleasant financial question, Angie said she had seriously decided to start saving foreign currency and buy herself a grave. She had no intention of ending up like Mozart, buried by barbarians as a pauper, at the expense of the state – anywhere. She is not a cat to be picked up by a dog-catcher, no bags or lime for her, but a modest, decent burial. I should know myself how Abraham would not let that emperor, Ephron, give him a field and a cave, but insisted, in front of witnesses, that he should fairly pay the thirty silver coins for the grave he intended for his Sarah and himself. She is an old woman, said Angie, and it is all right for her to think of such ultimate matters, particularly now, when trichinosis was raging throughout Serbia. You eat a good pork sausage in the morning, and perish in the afternoon.

I tried to explain that a simple grave in Belgrade cost five thousand German marks. Probably more: Equaling twenty-five hundred euro or one hundred and fifty thousand dinars. If, for example, she put aside twenty-five euro each month, she would need eight years to collect the sum. I advised her to forget about the saving, once dead she would certainly not worry about who paid for her grave: Myself, this state, or the government of Norway. It would be all the same to her then.

Angie admitted her thoughts were also moving in that direction, but wanted the two of as to talk about it, as family, as reasonable people, and somehow clear up the matter of the grave.

Raša Todosijević

January 22nd 2002