內戰過后，遲來的吻

M any saw it coming. 1）Ethnically charged graffiti began appearing on buildings around town. The local newspapers published the locations of bomb shelters. A classmate told me not to sleep in my bedroom because it faced military 2）barracks.

But in my 12-year-old mind， our town of 3）Mostar was too beautiful and the people too good to one another for there to be a civil war here. Besides， that spring was promising to be the greatest time of my life： I was happily in love for the first time.

I had noticed Marko at school and was attracted to his 4）mischievous eyes and playful smile. One afternoon， while walking home from a piano lesson， I spotted him coming down the hill on his skateboard. He stopped just short of running into me. I don’t remember us saying much. We just stood there and smiled. But that’s all it took to 5）seal the deal of our 6）mutual affection， and we became inseparable.

Marko was Croatian and I was Serbian. Soon， our ethnic groups would find themselves on opposing sides of a bloody civil war. But for the moment， none of that mattered. What mattered was how good it felt to be acknowledged by him， to be let in on his secrets and jokes， to take on the same adventures.

The day the war started， Marko and I walked home from school together. He told me that if war broke out， his family would go to 7）Split， Croatia. He asked what my family would do.

I had no idea. Right then my plans extended only to 6 p.m.， when I was supposed to meet him and the rest of our friends. With that agreement， we parted.

Less than a half-hour later， as I was walking upstairs to our apartment， an explosion shook the building. The blast threw me down the stairs， and the building went dark.All I knew then was that I had to find my family. I got up and stumbled outside. People were rushing every which way. Some were crying， some bleeding. I ran to my aunt’s place， where my mother was.

My plans for the evening were obviously ruined and I suspected it would be a while before I would be free to plan anything else. I had to get in touch with Marko， and tell him I was O.K. That we were O.K.

I snuck out into the hallway to use the telephone. I dialed the number， terrified by having to speak or explain to whom I was calling. Marko’s father answered. 8）Lightheaded with anxiety， I asked for Marko. I don’t know what I hoped to hear from him. Maybe that whatever was happening outside had no bearing on us. No ethnic 9）squabble or civil war could ruin what we had. At the very least， I thought he would ask if I was O.K.

He didn’t. In fact， Marko barely said a word. We exchanged a few awkward syllables， and then I hung up.

The next day my childhood home was gone， destroyed in the blast. Two weeks later， my brother， cousins and I were sent to another town.

From our exile， I wrote Marko long， never-to-be-sent letters describing the anger， sadness and 10）displacement I felt. A few weeks later， when it became clear to my parents that what was happening in and around Mostar was not a minor squabble but a 11）full-fledged war， they decided to take what was most important—my brother and me—and leave for good.

We settled in 12）Belgrade， Serbia. For years， I continued to think about my Marko， the memory having become 13）synonymous with lost innocence and never-again-possible perfection. Those brief days of happiness shone brightly through the tragedy that followed. When I started dating， I jokingly told boys that I had this unfinished relationship and couldn’t fully commit.

Yet the few times I traveled back to my hometown after the war， I didn’t dare look Marko up， though I knew how to get in touch with him.

What if he didn’t even remember me？ What if those lost years had 14）obliterated all we shared？ What if my being a Serb and his being a Croat was more of a barrier now than when we were children？ Most of all， though， I feared that nothing would have remained of the bright-eyed boy who followed me home from school on a skateboard and chased me down the 15）spiraling stairwells.

So I filed my Marko memories away. Then one morning， 16 years after fleeing my hometown， I opened my email at home in San Jose， Calif.， to find Marko’s name in the inbox. His message read， “If you are Nikolina from Mostar then I have been your boyfriend since 5th grade. Please 16）get back to me， so we can figure out what to do.”

Those two lines were all it took to dispel my fears. Marko was still the playful boy I had loved.

We spent the next few weeks emailing feverishly， telling each other everything we remembered of our childhood romance. He also told me some things I didn’t know， like how much he had obsessed over wanting to kiss me. He also told me that for years he had beaten himself up for not saying more when I called.

It was a couple of years before I could get back to Mostar. When I did， Marko and I met at the usual spot， at the bottom of the hill where he first approached me on his skateboard.

We would not have recognized each other on the street. Yet we understood something about each other that no one else did or could. Like the first time， we stood for a long while just smiling.

Marko and I talked for hours， recounting our youth， our shared sense of 17）dislocation and the many acts of 18）infidelity we had committed against each other over our nearly two decades apart.

Like the 19）Ottoman bridge， our lives had been shattered and then put back together. We were still gathering pieces， only now we had one fewer piece to look for.

Marko and I touched hands， leaned in and kissed. For that moment， it was as if nothing had been lost.

很多人都目睹了戰爭的來臨。種族主義的大字涂鴉開始出現在城鎮的各處樓房上。本地報紙發布了躲避炸彈的避難所位置。一個同學叫我不要睡在自己的臥室里，因為它面朝軍營。

但在12歲的我的觀念里，我們的城市莫斯塔爾如此美麗，人民如此友愛，這兒不應該爆發內戰。況且，那個春天充滿希望，是我一生中最美好的時光：我幸福地陷入了初戀。

我在學校注意到了馬爾科，我被他淘氣的眼神和頑皮的微笑迷住了。一天下午，在鋼琴課后走路回家時，我看到他踏著滑板從山上溜下來。他在幾乎撞到我之前停住了。我記得我們沒說多少話。我們只是站在那兒相視而笑。但這足以讓我們對彼此產生好感，我們變得形影不離。

馬爾科是克羅地亞人，而我是西伯利亞人。要不了多久，我們各自的民族同胞就會成為血腥的內戰中不共戴天的敵對雙方。但當時，這些都不重要。重要的是，能夠和他相識，能夠分享他的秘密和小笑話，能夠和他一起冒險，我感到很快樂。

戰爭爆發那天，我和馬爾科一起從學校走路回家。他告訴我如果戰爭爆發，他們一家會搬到克羅地亞的斯普利特。他問我的家人會怎么辦。

我不知道。當時我的計劃頂多安排到了傍晚6點，在6點我會和他還有其他朋友見面。帶著這個約定，我們分別了。

我們分開還不到半小時，在我爬樓梯回我住的公寓時，一聲爆炸響把樓房都撼動了。爆炸把我甩下了樓梯，樓里變得漆黑一片。當時我只知道我得找到家人?！?br>