Triple room on the ground floor of the Student Dormitory "4. April", the famous 18 A, in Belgrade, on Voždovac, like a kaleidoscope of time, only after arriving in Montenegro, it took its rightful place in my hierarchy of important memories. That period of freshman life, apart from far-reaching reflections that surfaced sporadically, almost daily, for these four decades, in the Podgorica days acquired a special patina, and until then only memories, through concrete characters and situations, became part of the reality of the Montenegrin phase in my life. being.
After arriving at the faculty, in 1982, my first residence was in New Belgrade, opposite the Faculty of Dramatic Arts. The two of us, roommate Branislav Ristić, a philosophy student, and I shared a double bed in one of the two rooms in a fifty square meter apartment where a family of four lived. These fine people were forced to use our rents to supplement their household budget, cut short by the economic hardships that befell them. We tried not to disturb each other too much, but it was practically impossible in that confined space. The shower schedule, a necessary measure conditioned by the number of tenants and the relatively small water heater, destroyed the last spark of Banet's and my energetic enthusiasm fueled by college and arrival in the "big white city".
Somehow at that time, I started hanging out with the team from Kraljevo, which was somehow much more practical than us "southerners". Dragan Bisenić and Slobodan Vučićević already had an enviable social life. They lived in a student dormitory, ate in the canteen, knew many more people than I did, who mostly spent my days wandering around the blocks of Novobeograd or in the courtyard of the FDU waiting for one of the famous actors to pass by, actually, to be honest - an actress.
And so, during one of the teasing breaks on the subject of "do you and your roommate collide on the wedding day", Biske and Bole offered me to be an "illegal", temporarily, of course, at 18 A. I didn't think much of it. My only concern was Pljevljak, their third roommate. The first impression, the sharp sound of the fiddle in complete darkness and a man lying motionless looking at the ceiling, was not very encouraging.
"He's taking a break, he's preparing Anatomy," Bole explained to me as we entered the room.
Duško Stanić, that was the guy's name, agreed without any problems and after about ten days I became a tenant - an "illegal" in 18 A.
In the meantime, I bought a Polish bed and a "five" sponge board, the same dimensions as the "Polish", which my cousin Coce covered with the appropriate blue fabric in the family's upholstery shop. Instead of bedclothes, I used a sleeping bag and here is my bed.
The rest is already the history of student life, but here, in fact, we are talking about that guy Duško Stanić, a veterinary student, who once again walked into my life while I was passing through Pljevlja these days.
In 1986, right around this time, at the end of August, Duško and Zorica decided to get married. The wedding was planned in Nange, the native village of Stanić, up there, high above Pljevlje. It was not to be missed.
Bole and I, always ready for action, drove all night towards Montenegro. We arrived in Pljevlja just before dawn. Duško waited for us there, and then we plunged into the darkness, on what seems to me to be a "lada", winding macadam.
In the old but well-preserved Stanić family house, it was dominated by a huge room, so I don't know if it could be called a living room, because there was also a kitchen and a dining room, and for some who were looking for a break from the day's work, a bedroom. Goulash is being cooked in a huge pot, various deacons are being chopped on several tables, but in this crowd of people it is quite clear that the place of honor belongs to the ancient Mile Stanić, Đedo.
Grandpa Mileta was very happy about our arrival.
"These are ours," he exclaimed as we entered the room.
Even the remark "it's because of the beard" didn't really help us in clarifying this somewhat unusual welcome until grandfather Milet himself told us his life story.
Mileta Stanić, born in 1909, served in the army between the two wars and swore allegiance to King Alexander. He never violated that oath. After the beginning of the Second World War, he joined the Royal Army in the homeland of Draža Mihailović, which was organized by Jovan Jelovac in the Pljeval region.
In the early autumn of 1944, as the grandfather told Duška, a large number of Chetnik units from this region headed towards Dubrovnik to await the announced arrival of King Peter. Among them was Miletus, who traveled all that way for no reason because the king did not come. He awaited the end of the war hiding in hard-to-reach caves.
Mileta Stanić did not trust the new authorities and surrendered only in 1946. He was sentenced to 10 years in prison, served five, saved his four sons. Radivoje, Duško's father, stayed on the estate, Dragomir is in Pljevlje, and Budimir and Neđeljko have settled in Belgrade.
Duškov and my path, except in room 18 A of the student dormitory "4. April", crossed once again, in an almost unbelievable way.
After the wedding, Duško and Zorica returned to Belgrade and, looking for work, ended up nowhere else but in Vranje. When they came, it was temporary, but they stayed in my Vranje until today.
I soon moved to Belgrade, and then to Podgorica. Somehow we switched places but, as the optimists would say, who knows why that's good.
In any case, while wandering around Pljevlja and looking in the surrounding hills for Nange, I remember how Duško, at the very beginning of his life in the south of Serbia, asked me for a translation for the specific language there.
"It's getting dark, it's going to come back," a peasant said to Duška at that time.
Now, Duško, looking at the sky, answers briefly:
"He will return".
Bonus video:
