Rogatica // I Always Heard Better in the Dark

© Opština Rogatica

How long had he been sitting next to me? You aren’t going to be able to answer that question, you were not in Rogatica on that cold March morning. Was it March? That isn’t important. It was definitely cold and it was definitely Rogatica. 

“Excuse me, lad, would you like to hear about Rogatica?” I guess? I wasn’t entirely sure why he had singled me out or how he had known to speak English, least of all why he had addressed me as ‘lad’. Not to worry. I agreed, and he began in a droll voice, simultaneously colourless and captivating.

“I sense you are not interested in the early chapters, lad. I sense you are cynical about everywhere being inhabited from the same time, but how can you truly understand a place if you ignore its beginnings? Do you expect people to understand you if they know nothing of your upbringing? I will skip the early parts, lad, but rest assured I am not happy about it.” He was remarkably well-spoken for a strange man in Rogatica. He continued.

“We’ll start with the Ottomans, shall we? Of course, we’re forgetting centuries, but that’s your choice, lad. You have chosen not to know about the fortress at Borač, the Radinović family, the Pavlović family, their charters, their envoys. The Ottomans? They arrived in the 15th century and did what they usually did, namely setting up the basic needs of a community. Public baths, water systems, bazaars, and the like. Mosques were built, and the population of the town grew. Rogatica had tanners, tailors, blacksmiths, bakers, swordsmiths and more. It was an important town in those times, lad, make no mistake about it.”

I wasn’t worried about the importance of Rogatica during the Ottoman period. I was still a little worried about the eloquence of the man, although the worry was of my own making. It didn’t stop him, obviously.

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“The Austro-Hungarians brought about their changes in the late 19th century, modernising many facilities but also focusing on military endeavours. They built barracks, stables, that sort of thing. They built a railway, but it wasn’t for the good of the people. They took the first official census in 1880 and brought the Latin alphabet, but the young people didn’t trust them. They left, largely for Sarajevo and for land that remained within the Ottoman Empire. Yugoslavia? It is best we do not talk about that. Land was taken, let’s say that. Mines were opened. Things stagnated, lad.”

I didn’t want to think about stagnation. Not because it doesn’t interest me as a subject, but because we no longer seemed to be in Rogatica. We were surrounded by nature, and the air was incredible. I took the deepest breaths that I could, and the difference was remarkable. There were trees all around, but I know nothing about trees, so couldn’t identify them.

“Those are pine trees, lad, hence the name of this place. This is Borike, and yes, the air is as good as you think. There is plenty of drinking water here too. Think of it as a natural spa, lad. See those horses over there? Famous, lad. The stable was established at the end of the 19th century, and by the middle of the Yugoslav times, those horses were winning prizes all over the globe. They are bred to be big, lad. Bred to be big.”

Okay, the horses were big, but how had we gone from Rogatica to Borike without me realising? I’m absent-minded sometimes, I can admit that much, but this seemed a little bit of a stretch. I started to panic and desperately thought of a way to escape. Maybe I could ride one of the horses? Lord, no, of course not. This man was going to kill me in the middle of nowhere, wasn’t he?

“Worry not, lad. Rome is consumed, and as I fiddle this whisper tune on these strings, friend, I have no need of your ears. I always heard better in the dark.”

Wait, why was this man quoting Million Dead? Everyone knows that the early 2000s UK post-hardcore band should have been bigger, but there’s no way they made it to Rogatica or Borike, surely? Before I could finish that thought, I became aware that we weren’t in Borike anymore; we were by the Žepa river. 

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More precisely, we stood next to a stone bridge that bridged the river, although I now see the folly of using the word ‘bridged’ so soon after the word ‘bridge’. Grammarly would hate that. The man looked at me as I thought of Grammarly, although that sort of kills the mystique somewhat. I wrote this years later, why is the man still there?

If you haven’t worked it out by now, this man did not exist. He didn’t shepherd me around Rogatica and the surrounding area, he didn’t fill me with facts and history, and he didn’t quote any Million Dead lyrics. I was in Rogatica on a sunny March morning, and I did visit all of these sites, but it was with Slobodan and a local guide, and I was dreadfully hungover. All travel writers are liars. Do not trust them.

“Don’t be so harsh on your fellow artists, lad. Every lie contains a truth, and every truth contains a lie.” Wait, now he’s quoting anime? I didn’t find this strange, with the fantastical nature of everything we had experienced that day. He was still talking. 

“The Redžep-pasha tower is nearby, but we will not see that today. Why? Time, lad, time. Besides, is this bridge not special enough? Nobody knows when it was built, there are only theories. It was moved in 1966 because of a powerplant, we know that, but sentences aren’t judged only by their closing punctuation. This is a beautiful bridge built by a true master. Look at it, this could only be the work of someone meticulously educated, and no such architect came from these parts all those centuries ago. Does it remind you of the bridge in Višegrad?” It didn’t, but it did, all at once. It was only a single arch, but there was a likeness to it.

“As you see, lad, it is only one arch. It was almost certainly built to improve communication and trade, bringing people and words closer together, but the steep banks of the Žepa made this a tough build. The bridge is 21.6 metres long and is 12 metres above the water…” I stopped listening. It was a beautiful bridge, and no amount of statistics was going to change my mind. I wondered how there could be so much mystery around its construction, but it didn’t trouble me. It was here now, that seemed to be the most important part. Don’t worry about the past, and the future does not exist. Only now. 

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“…but when Sinan found out about this, he ordered that his disciple’s arms be chopped off.” Hold on, what? I hadn’t been paying attention, but I had clearly missed something of a tangent. I asked the man to repeat the story, to tell me why this poor sucker had his arms lopped off, but his attention was diverted. He was looking into the distance, Actually, wait, he was sitting. He looked calm. He had a bottle of beer in front of him, which surprised me. I didn’t expect him to be a beer drinker.

His being fictional and all. 

“This is Ziličina. If you are looking for serenity, you will find it here. Rogatica is 4km away from here, but many families head to this place to relax, for their children to run around, to enjoy the good food, good friends and the peace of the Rakitnica. After all, lad, the fall of dropping water wears away the stone.”

He had a point. Not about wearing away stones but the tranquillity of it all. I followed his lead, gazing out at the serenity, and took the deepest breath I could. I closed my eyes, and tried to think of the entirety of existence, how small we are, how important yet pointless that is. I tried to think of my family, my sister. I tried to think of my imaginary wife (who I hadn’t met yet, but let’s not let this outro get sidetracked), my imaginary kids (who didn’t exist yet, see above) and everything else I wanted in life. I opened my eyes, and the man was gone. Slobodan was asking me what I wanted to eat. I don’t remember what I ordered.