Chapter 1

Running up the stairs Bisera heard the phone from her apartment ringing. - Oh, damn traffic, damn rain! I can't miss him! - Phone rang for the fourth time as she rushed in. - Hallo! - She answered the phone caching her breath and hoping he wouldn't hear the wild thudding of her hearth. - Running for the championship? - She heard his warm deep voice teasing her. - Oh... Matthew it's you! - She said as if anybody else would have ever called her at this hour on her land line. - Im sorry if youve expected somebody else. - He said. - Oh, no, no. I of course not Traffic is impossible in Belgrade when it rains. It took me for ever to drive home... I heard the phone climbing the stairs. - She said truthfully. - I'm really glad to hear you. - And she was. Strange. It's been only two months since they had their first conversation over the phone. From that first time his voice made her feel the same creepy tingles all over her body just like she was feeling now. And she's never even met him. Every time he called she would dream of him the whole night afterwards. Ok. After that first conversation she "Googled" him and saw some blur old photo of Matthew Kolar the Canadian journalist, reporter and photographer, a photo of smiling gorgeous young man with shiny golden blond hair and bright blue eyes, but there was nothing to be found about Matthew Kolar the writer. She just hoped it was him, so she could at least imagine him. As if they had some kind of agreement she's never asked him why was that, happy enough only to talk to him. In her empty and bleak world of a high school teacher young but plain, with no family and just one friend, his voice's become the only bright spot. No matter how absurd it was, she was beginning to fall for him. "How can you be attracted by a man you've never seen in your life?" Her best and only friend asked her the other day. "Don't ask me, it's silly, Im well aware of it. But, you know, some people make a relationship by chatting over the internet." She answered apologetically. "Its true, but they at least send each other their photos. And you have no idea whatsoever about him." Bisera, of course, never told her she actually "Googled" a journalist from Canada with the same name. "For all you know he might as well be a fat little bald man who could've been your father." Anna was teasing her. But Bisera knew better. She knew he was 35. He was her student's uncle and guardian and she's known that from the girl's file. "Doesn't it seem strange to you that he never shows up at school? He's always found some excuse for not being able to come to school to meet me and talk about his niece." Anna said suspiciously. "He does talk with me about her, I am her class master." Bisera was defending him. "Yes, but I am the school counselor and psychologist here!" Anna raised her voice. "Stop it, Anna, please; he must have a good reason for that. Don't be so trustless. He is nice and kind man, I can assure you." Bisera said loosing her temper. Anna just sighed. "Oh, whatever. Think as you wish! Remember I warned you." - That's true. Belgrade is just an unorganized Balkan city. It's quite charming because of that sometimes. Don't you think? Dont tell me my nieces class master and favorite Latin teacher has lost her calm only because of the rain? He said with very obvious amusement, as she set down on her sofa kicking her shoes off to relax and enjoy the conversation. He would always manage to make her relax, to make her feel better. What ever problem she had, he would always gladly advise her, help her to solve it. Sometimes it was enough only to hear his voice to forget all the tension a class of teenagers could cause her, all the hurt from being misunderstood by her colleagues. His voices

become kind of a lifeline, a safe rock she could rely on. But it was one Sunday evening, a month ago, when she definitely realized she was getting seriously attached to him. She wasn't feeling well that day. It was just one of those days when she would be feeling completely lost not knowing who she really was since she's never found out anything about her parents. She was an orphan found as a baby in a train wreck among a mash of numberless bodies distorted and dismembered beyond recognition. She was found unharmed under a huge suitcase. The phone rang as she was in bed all curled up and sobbing. "What is the matter, Bisera? What's happened?" He asked her sincerely concerned. "It's nothing. I'm just being in one of those moods." Being in bed and crying she lost all her defenses and couldn't but tell him the truth about herself. "I'm just feeling lost and alone. I don't know who I am. I don't know who my parents had been. I don't even know my real name." She told him not even caring weather he would pity her or not. But there was no pity in his voice when he gently told her. "You may not know your parents. But they do know you. They may not be in this world with you. But they still are with you in eternity. You are never alone. No one is. Be sure your parents love you. And I am sure you've made them proud of you. I am sure they are so proud of the person you are." Oh, heavens, if she only could have hugged him in that moment! His warm soothing voice was a balm to her tortured soul. And her heart went to this man. It was not important to her any more how he looked like. To her he was more then beautiful. - I was just annoyed. I'm ok now. - How could she not be when she could listen to him? - I need your skills again, young lady. - He always managed to find some important reason to call her. He's never called just like this, just to hear her voice. She new he was just a friend and it's made her sad. But he did often call her. And it was the only thing that mattered to her. He asked her once to translate some article from Greek. He said he needed it for the novel he was writing. She gladly accepted. Then, there were some Latin words he needed to know the real meaning of. Afterwards he asked her for an advice about his nieces school problems. And it went on and on. - Just tell me what you need and I'll be glad to do no matter what. - She told him and she meant it. - Are you familiar with a verse that goes something like this: I have raised a monument more permanent than bronze? - Of course I am. Its an ode by the Roman poet Horatius: Exegi monumentum aere perennius. He alludes to his poetry. - You really are a pearl. How many times have I told you that? He asked and she was sure he was smiling. - Just a few she said laughing joyously but I dont count the time when you said my name meant pearl in English. She was so glad she made him pleased. - Everything ok at school? - Yes. Just the usual stuff. - Now she knew the conversation was nearly over. - Have a good night then, and sweet dreams. - He always said this to her. And she knew he meant it. - Good night, Matthew. And she was already missing him. Her little ranted flat seemed empty and cold now. Oh, if I could only see him, touch him once at least. Just for a moment. She told to herself taking off her simple red tartan skirt and black woolen top. I hope it will be nice weather tomorrow, she said absentmindedly. It was November in Belgrade, but it was still not as cold as it could be.

And the weather was nice in the morning. She got up early intending to take her old big white Ford Escort to her mechanic. If her books were her only treasure, the old Ford was her only luxury, and her work was her life. And my flat used to be my safe oasis, she said to herself. She had her morning cup of coffee, and rushed into the bathroom to comb her hair. The girl from the mirror was already a woman. She was thirty, her face pale, eyes dark brown with olivegreen spots. They were not those big smoky eyes with long black lushes but just plain dark eyes very often said. She was ordinary. You have beautiful hair she was usually told. Yes, this is what they always say to a plain woman, she told herself brushing her hair up in a pony tale. She sighed. He will never love me. Im not beautiful. I am nearly invisible. She sadly smiled at this thought. It was a chilly November morning. Streets were covered with fallen leaves, but trees were still covered by leaves of all colors of ripe fall, green, yellow, red and brown. It was beautiful morning, but she didnt like this season anyway. It was too gloomy; the nature was mourning its own death. Bisera shivered fighting the urge to go back home and curl up in bed under warm covers. Oh, dont be ridiculous, girl, you have everything you wanted. Yes, except for probability of being loved. Being loved by him, she mused. - Give me your car keys and dont worry. Go and have a cup of coffee in my office. The mechanic told her as soon as she parked her Ford in front of the car service. After an hour, or so, she was at the parking lot in the school yard. Luckily it was still early, so she had time to get prepared for her classes. Today she was testing her students for their first grades of the year, for so called classification. She was sure that Martha, Matthews niece, was well prepared. Shes been consulting her for two months now. The girl looked less depressed and her eyes didnt look so said and lost any more. When shed seen the girl two months ago she doubted she could do anything for her. Martha was mourning her parents who had been killed I a car crash and Matthew Kolar, her uncle, was her only family. Bisera made contact with him, began tutoring Martha and put Melanie to sit with her in the class. Bisera now mentally smiled, I hope Melanie did her magic. Melanie was her wonder girl. She came to school last year frustrated and disorientated not knowing how to do what was required, because Melanie was blind and there were no books in Braille. She didnt have anybody to get help from her parents being too busy with their work. Bisera was working with her the whole year long, she even learned to reed Braille in order to be able to correct Melanies homework and tests, recorded some books for her, not only for her classes, but for some other too, and Melanie bloomed. At the end of last year she was the first in many subjects. The girl was a tough fighter, clever, smart and determined to overcome her disability. She was craving knowledge not only grades. As a person she was lovable, nice and easy to talk to, caring. Bisera loved and admired her. This year Melanies parents managed to purchase for their little girl everything she needed. So she now had a good computer and all the hardware and software for the blind. Melanie was now quite independent and was even able to tutor other students. So Bisera asked Melanie to help Martha, to try to pull her out of her shell, out of her depression. You think Miss Vidan I can do that? The girl asked her. I think you can. Just be yourself and talk to her whenever you get a chance Bisera told her. Ok, Ill try, she simply said, but couldnt hide her delight she could be of any help to anybody. Bisera was now waiting to see the results of all these efforts, since she hasnt asked Melanie about her progress with Martha. She could only catch a glimpse of them in the hall walking together from time to time. It was nice to see them together, although they were so different. Martha was blond, pale, frail and thin and Melanie was dark haired strait, slender, tall and tough.

After classes the weather turned around. Sudden foggy drizzle turned to boring rain with no hope of stopping soon. Well, it was November in Belgrade. This is how November is supposed to look like here. Bisera mused going down the stairs and heading out of the building after classes. A lot of students were still in the hall, some of them talking to their cell-phones, the others sitting on benches waiting for their parents to come to pick them up. - Miss Vidan! She heard Marthas high voice from down the stairs. Martha and Melanie were standing at the end of the handrail, Marthas eyes wide with relief. - What are you two still doing here? Nobody came to pick you up? Bisera asked them with concern. - This is when she doesnt listen to me. Melanie smiled poking Marthas ribs playfully with her index finger. And listens to the weather forecast instead. Martha giggled in response. - Stop it, Mel, be serious for once. But she was grinning, her huge blue eyes looking at her with affection. Martha looks a different girl now. Bisera suddenly realized. The girl was still skinny, but she was surely alive again. Even her hair was shiny blond, her cheeks slightly rosy. - Miss Vidan Melanie said Nobody is coming for us. My parents arent at home. Her uncle is, but he doesnt drive, so we didnt bother him. Would you drive us home? - Of course, girls, I even have an umbrella for you. But its a shame I didnt take two extra jackets from home. Bisera answered teasing them. Bisera was more then glad to oblige them. First of all she was glad to see them behaving like old friends with no restraint whatsoever on Marthas part because of Melanies disability. It was really relieving. Melanie made some friends eventually, but Biseras never seen her so relaxed with any of them. They made their way to the car shivering with cold. Bisera shoved them both to the backseat. - Now, I remember where you live, Melanie, from last year. But I have no idea, Martha, where your home is. Bisera said buckling her belt. - Oh, its just around the corner from my place. Melanie said again. We were surprised when we discovered we lived so close, and never had met before. I suppose its fairly near to your place too, Miss Vidan. Melanie chattered. - Well, yes, its about five minutes by car. Bisera said enjoying Melanies relaxed chatter. - You just go to Melanies house, and Ill show you, Miss Vidan. Martha finally said nudging Melanie with her elbow to talk less. Bisera noticed her movement and laughed. - Come on, Martha, relax. Melanie knows me well enough. She knows I like her chatter. Id like very much to see you both act quite naturally. Bisera saw Martha smile and relax in her seat. - So do you go home together every day? Bisera asked them. - Yes. Melanie answered My parents drive us both in the morning, and we go home together by bus after school. - Does it mean you dont have any more your arrangement with those two younger girls? Asked Bisera knowing that Melanie had to tutor two younger girls in math so that they would walk her home in return. Melanies never wanted to owe anything to anybody. She liked her independence too much. - She helps me now, Miss Vidan. But its not the same. I would never ask her to do anything for me in return for going home with her. Mel is the best friend Ive ever had in my life. Martha said grabbing her friends hand.

Bisera felt tears stinging behind her eyes. Martha was such a sensitive, gentle girl. No. She was not depressed any more, that was for sure. Melanie really did her magic. - Hey! Youve just passed my house, Miss Vidan! Melanie said joking, feeling the need to interrupt this very emotional moment. The three of them burst to laughter. After a while Bisera stopped the car in front of Melanies house making sure Melanie needed just a few steps strait ahead to reach the front gate. - Here we are, Melanie, 10 steps strait ahead and you are home. Good night, see you tomorrow. - See, I told you! Said Melanie squeezing Marthas hand, then opened the door and left. Bisera waited to see her enter the house. - She told me you never fuss over her. She loves you for this attitude and wishes her parents are more like you. But they are getting around as well. Martha said thoughtfully. - So I suppose you are not being overprotective. Bisera asked starting the car. - No, Im not. She said quietly. If you just turn left, Miss Vidan, this is my street. Here is the house. Said Martha and Bisera stopped the car. Martha went out and to a huge black gate in a high stone wall. She buzzed the intercom and the gate slowly opened. Then she smiling waved Bisera goodbye and mouthing at her thank you entered. The gate closed behind her. Bisera looked up at the house. It was a two storied building built of gray stones, very simple and elegant, but also very gloomy. She couldnt see much of it because of the stone wall around. She sighed. So Matthew lives here. This is his house. Suddenly she realized she owned nothing, not even a flat. She never considered herself poor, never even thought it was important. But could a man who owned such a house ignore her utter poverty?