The best way to avoid boring reality of Podgorica is to spend the time on the rooftop of the building where Miro lives. The magic of the terrace surpasses by far its physical limitations – the former spreads above the offices of Omniauto, stretches across the entire Spaniard cicrcuse and reaches all the way down to the suburbs. The monumental, metaphisical building with time adopted the qualities of the people who spend long, hot summers there. Up here, the climat is very different, it’s fresh and breezy even when down there the city is melting on over hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The terrace is capricious like Bibi, strong and determined like Miro, from Ivo she got joy de vivre, she longs for the occult after me…
We really have to watch out whom we let up here, the terrace can sometimes get cranky and downright mean if we let in someone who doesn’t belong here. Once it swollowed the pizza delivery boy… and spitted him out at the sea-shore, thirty miles away from the city!
Some people are always here, some – only occasionaly, some visit only once…
Misses Anka, Miro’s mother, with a halo of ash-blond hair, wearing embrodiered white dress and fine leather sandals, is always here – even when she is at work; her patients at the hospital usually don’t realise that this lady is being at two places at the same time.
My close friend Bibi sometimes decides we should miss her even more than we do usually and, moving the clouds with her hips, she walks away, heading to her studio in Toloshe, which is not all that far away. She has to come back when people on Spaniard Circus are covered in plaster that fell off the terrace which mourns her absence.
Cvjetko Lainović is always here, with us. That night when he died he promissed he will stay forever here, under this whitness which he personally painted in the very night he died. Even the proverbially suspicious terrace trusts him on this one because she knows that sky above her is the whitest sky of all… At down, when the white sky is cut with little purple veins, Cvetko covers his eyes with white butterflies, this way he protects the whitness of his vision even during these momenets when the night gives birth to the day.
Copyright© 2008 Lena Ruth Stefanovic, All Rights Reserved
The story is from my second book ‘Io Triumpe’ (OKF, Cetinje, 2008.) Genius Montenegrin minimalist Cvetko Lainovic, worldwide known for his “white paintings”, towards the end of his life did series of interviews with Miro Minic, the owner of the capricious roof terrace, a famed journalist and a friend of mine.