…

‘If you want to see father, come with me,’ mother says and takes me to the door of their room. She moves aside and I enter. I enter into the cave of Polyphemus, the lair where a mythical monster sleeps.

The room is very dark. Father has closed the shutters, preventing the light from entering, so that no eyes or sunrays can see his downfall and shame. He’s lying on the bed, uncovered, hands over his head.

‘Come here,’ says he, and I approach. We are silent. Then he speaks again.

‘They got us in the end. We’ve been had by the communists,’ he says.
‘The Batinić family?’
‘Yes! The communists. He told me: “your time won’t last forever.” He knew.’
‘Dad, forget it, it’s over now…’
‘We should’ve lived all together…’
‘Dad…’
‘And I was begging Marija! The last time I was begging her was two weeks ago. If Marija stayed up there, they would never tear it down.’
‘Dad…’
‘They wouldn’t, I’m telling you. The lawyer said: no demolition if she moves back in. They won’t tear down a house with a family with two children. If it’s empty up there, they’ll demolish. I couldn’t even rent it any more, the Ministry of Tourism has made new regulations. I could only beg her to come back.’
‘Dad, don’t…’
‘She wouldn’t. Wouldn’t hear of it. And you too.’

He is silent again. He shrinks, contorted in a mute knot of anger. Looking at him, I realize without surprise: he hasn’t understood anything. He hasn’t taken it up, not a single insight into the world or about people has entered that hard head of his, and he is grey and old and soon there’ll be no days left for learning.

I go out of the room and meet my mother’s gaze. I see it clearly now: she’s afraid of me. I see fear in her glance and avert my eyes.

‘Will you stay for lunch?’ she asks.
‘I won’t,’ I reply, thinking that I should tell Renata about the change of plans.
…

There is something else I want to do before leaving. I go through the hallway, find the stairs and climb. I climb into the blind tower.

The tower was the craziest and most pointless building exploit of my father. A staircase of marble and brass, strong and unbreakable, leading to nothing, ending nowhere. It’s been standing like this, untouched, since my childhood: six flights of stairs, two floors two plastic doors overlooking an abyss. This abyss was supposed to belong to Stipe and me, to be filled with his and my life.

When we were kids, the tower was off-limits for us. The lower flight of stairs on Marija’s floor was taped over like a crime scene. The tape was the end of the permitted world, the border to an alluring, forbidden realm. Mother wouldn’t let us climb it for fear that we would fall. We climbed it anyway and I’m climbing it now.

I climb to the first blind floor, then to the second. I approach the plastic door. It used to be locked a long time ago. But Stipe and I soon noticed the low quality of plastic locks. It is enough to tug the door and it yields. I see the void opening in front of me.

Stipe and I used to call the second floor “heaven.” We would climb to the second floor, slightly open this door when nobody was looking, and watch the empty space below, untamed by fences. The second floor “heaven” was our most guarded secret, our most exciting entertainment, the spice of our childhood.

I’m looking into the seemingly bottomless view under me. But that view has changed. This place used to command an untouched cove, and the flat grey roof of Marija’s floor could be seen right under the opening. Now I see dozens of roofs, a small town. Below me, the ruins of father’s empire: piles of rubble, the deformed slab, steel reinforcing ripped like a cobweb. They destroyed everything, I think to myself, so it’s strange they didn’t tear down the tower. Then I remember—they haven’t finished, they’ll demolish tomorrow too.