Zagreb--Amsterdam--New York [Volume: 11(1992), pp. 249-256]

Zagreb-Amsterdam-New York
DUBRAVKA UGRESIC
"Where are you from?" asks a young Dutch photographer, trying to relax me with his question.
"From Zagreb," I say.
"And where is that?" the young Dutch photographer asks naturally, as he
chews his gum.
Indeed, where is it? In Croatia. In a country which does not exist. And
where is that? In Yugoslavia. In a country which no longer exists. If a country does
not exist, then nothing that takes place in it actually takes place. Death does not take
place; Croatian cities are not destroyed; victims do not die; refugees do not leave
home; even violent army generals do not lead attacks... In Holland, in Amsterdam,
I am at home; I am just the Flying Dutchman.
Now I no longer know who I am, where I am, nor to whom I belong, my
mother said several days ago. On that day we hurried five times into the cellar, an
improvised bomb shelter. Properly following the civil defense directions in the shelters, we carried our personal documents so that, in case of bombing, we would be
neatly identified and not just anonymous corpses.
When my neighbors heard that I was going to Amsterdam, they said:
"And tell that Van den Broek what's going on here..." During which we all sat in
the cellar of our apartment building. My neighbors knitted and crocheted, calming
their worn-out nerves with threads of wool and yarn. "I will tell him," I uttered.
Everyone looked at me, and their glances contained not even a trace of doubt. Now,
when I stroll through the streets of Amsterdam, I know that all the sweaters, vests, 249