Word: slivovitz
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Self-pity is one ingredient in the black brew. Slivovitz, plum brandy, taken in great quantities, starting at breakfast time, is another; alcohol numbs the conscience and lubricates the trigger finger. The sacrament of slivovitz -- though some get there without it -- helps keep Serbs, both fighters and sideline supporters -- in that fourth dimension of tribal passion where heroic patriotism and great atrocity become equally possible. This is the dimension of tribal memory, drifting in time, across centuries. Grievances float through the dimension like ghosts, crying out for justice -- for the Serbs whom the Croats massacred during the Hitler years...
...vultures sit in the hills. Drunk on slivovitz and nationalism, they fire through the intermittent radiance...
...sign of our loyalty. We will not oppose them, and they will not harm us. So far, they have kept their word, but we don't know about the future." Meantime, they try to lead normal lives, harvesting their plums to sell to Serb neighbors for making slivovitz. Though most are afraid to leave the village, a few brave souls carry food each day to the men at the Trnopolje camp...
...nearby, frustrated shoppers picked through the meager offerings, then left with mostly empty plastic bags. There were potatoes the day before, but they sold out in less than five minutes. On Thursday huge cans of cucumbers were available for about half the average monthly wage. Bottles of beer and slivovitz -- hoarded or, as many mutter angrily, stolen -- are available at outrageous prices. Puzic bought toothpaste, soap and a bundle of broad coltsfoot leaves. "I've never eaten it before," she sighed with a dubious glance at the tough, shiny weeds normally used for treating asthma. "But what else is there...
...Bedding in Sarajevo is more brilliant than housing. But the homes are warm and the people are sweet. A woman in work clothes surprised by visitors while hanging her laundry (Yugoslav dry cleaning, it flutters everywhere) appears the next moment in a beautiful red dress to offer coffee and slivovitz. Boots are left on the stoop, and slippers wait inside the door. Her brother-in-law, a more or less symmetrical giant named Momo, pours the plum marvelous drink while a child grinds