three drummer boys on the way back from war, three drummer boys, and rat and tat ratatatat, on the way back from waaar, I have that tune in my head now, the suitcase is very heavy, and the gin does nothing for it — I splash more water on my face, the window in the toilet is opaque, I can only feel the pressure of endless tunnels on my eardrums, between Bologna and Florence, which must not be far now, are we already in Tuscany, what time is it, 7:15, another half-hour before Florence then 300 kilometers till Rome and the new life, if I don’t get out on the way, if I don’t take advantage of an unexpected stop to try to escape Fate, but the choices were already made a long time ago, I’ll hand over the suitcase, I’ll follow it through to the end, in the fall of 1990 I began the journey in a train from the Gare de Lyon, I was crossing Italy for the first time, determined, a little anxious still, strong from my military knowledge ready to place my sword at the service of my country, now it will go back in its sheath, farewell Francis Mirković the butcher from Bosnia, farewell, farewell Andrija the fierce, rest in peace, in the train to Zagreb we sang three drummer boys as we drank, now I’ve drunk alone and rat and tat, ratatatat, now I’m alone in the night locked up in this cubbyhole, I’ll have to find the courage to leave it, the strength, just as sometimes in war you’re afraid to go out, one night on the front in Bosnia two guys had to go reconnoiter the enemy lines, as close as possible to see where the Chetniks had set themselves up, Andi immediately volunteered and he chose me to go with him, in theory I had a higher rank than he but who cares, I agreed, we armed ourselves, weapons and ammunition, I remember I broke a shoelace as I tied my boots too forcefully which made Andrija laugh out loud but which seemed a bad omen to me, maybe Athena wouldn’t accompany us this time, the daughter of Zeus was looking elsewhere, we left in the darkest part of night around 2:00 A.M., we began to go down the hill between the trees, slipping on the wet earth, I was scared stiff, because of the darkness or the shoelace, I don’t know, my rifle clanked against the buttons on my jacket I was obsessed by this sound I was sure it was going to get us spotted Andrija skidded sideways sprawled onto his back swore like a trucker in a low voice, we should go back, I thought, we should go back right away before the real catastrophe, it seemed imminent, shit it’s like looking through an African’s asshole Andrija whispered that didn’t make me laugh but he was right we could be passing an entire regiment without realizing it, the lower down we got the steeper the slope became, we’d have to cling to the tree trunks to get back up, the Serbs must have been right below us — we stopped to listen we heard nothing, aside from an owl in the distance, maybe the goddess didn’t abandon us in the end, the night smelled of earth of grass and of the cold damp the calm was far from the racket of war Andrija looked at me as if to say should we climb back up? the valley was plunged in darkness there was no enemy around here that’s for sure just an irregular rustle of leaves like hesitant footsteps down below I grasped Andi’s shoulder put a finger to my mouth someone was approaching, the owl suddenly falls silent, someone was trying to climb the hill and panting, on our right — Andrija smiled, happy finally not to have schlepped all this way for nothing, my fear came back, what rotten luck, kilometers of hills and we come almost nose to nose with the Chetniks, how many of them were there, I strained my ears in vain I could hear just one of them, one single guy wheezing and breaking branches, this must be what deer and bucks feel when the hunter approaches, pieces of branches and a tightening of the chest Andrija signs to us to move to the right to intercept this noisy oaf, maybe a civilian, but what the hell would a civilian be doing in the middle of the night in the middle of the front, maybe one of our own, lost, was climbing back to our lines, Andi the brave moved away as quietly as possible veered off to the right the unknown man would find himself between the two of us in a few seconds I could hear him distinctly now the fat quarry was advancing slowly towards Andrija I hid behind a tree my mouth was dry I held my breath the Chetnik passed me I caught him by the legs he fell into the mud Andi jumped onto his back gagged him with his hand to stifle his cry of fear, I took his weapon, held him by the ear, aside from the panicked breathing of the Serb the hill was silent, Andi put his dagger under the petrified soldier’s neck and made him sit down opposite me he was in his forties with bulging eyes I whispered if you shout we slit your throat, ok? he nodded Andrija removed his hand but not his blade, what are you doing here? I asked, he stammered they sent me on reconnaissance he was so afraid he had difficulty speaking, his breath stank of onions, I asked where are the others? he replied I’m all alone, with an air of despair, liar are you jerking us around or what? the knife pressed a little harder on his Adam’s apple he blanched I swear to you, I swear, I’m all alone, I was supposed to go look at your lines, I got lost, I believed him, the front had shifted the previous day after their offensive, they wanted to know where we had withdrawn to, just as we wanted to know where they had stopped, I asked him the question, down below, on the other side of the river, that was logical, probably true, we’d be able to take our catch with us, this fish with the bulging eyes gone to spy on us alone in the night, Andi asked me in a low voice should we go? as I got up I noticed that our Serb had a game bag at his side, a canvas bag, I felt the weight of it the soldier rolled his frightened eyes, I opened it, it was full of bloody billfolds, gold chains, bracelets and wedding rings, a highwayman of corpses, he came back at night to strip the dead that we hadn’t had time to bury during the day, scattered around in no man’s land, maybe a spy but definitely a vulture with a panicked look, I heard the owl hoot in the distance, the Serb suddenly tried to free himself, to run away, Andrija the furious fell down swearing I pulled the trigger on my rifle by instinct two explosions ripped through the night followed by groans of pain I went over to the soldier he was writhing in the freezing mud I took his haversack his rifle Andi slit his throat in one enraged motion wiped his knife on the dead man’s jacket come on we’re going back up, we went back up, with difficulty, Andrija griping cursing the Chetniks I listened to the owl singing carrying the dead man’s soul to Hades, three drummer boys on the way back from war, the third was sleeping up above like a baby, he didn’t even wake up when we went to bed, after handing our somber booty over to an officer, the mortal remains, papers and jewelry of the abandoned dead — a few months before Andrija himself joined the underworld, Andrija shot down shitting behind a bush by a Muslim squadron that came out of nowhere died as he lived, ironically, fallen in his own shit like Robert Walser in the snow, three bullets in the chest thrown backwards into the smoking shit, pants around his knees, immobilized by the runs weapon in hand, no doubt he was laughing all alone and saying Za dom spremni as he heaved, Andi I miss you, in the early morning the fog the taste of the bronze of combat I said to you in a low voice “you’re not going to go shit now, nećeš valjda sad da kenjaš do it here if you want,” that gave you a good laugh, poor stubborn proud Croatian fool, you had already thrown up on me one winter night I could have put up with your shit, I would have preferred it to your death, fallen in irony Andrija I press the black plastic button and the water that flows down the steel sides of the ultra-modern train toilet is a torrent, a thin river that carries everything away flushes my urine onto the tracks and crossties going by at 150 kmh to soil eternal Tuscany with an immense pleasure