Plus tri

Nismo se odavno čuli.Tačnije, nismo se čuli onako kako smo se nekada čuli — telefonom, u hodu, uz smeh, uz tvoja pitanja i priču koja bi odmah rešila stvar. Ali znaš kako je, sa nekim ljudima razgovor se nikada stvarno ne prekine. Samo se promeni način. Umesto poruke, iskrsne uspomena baš onda kada čovek pomisli da je zaboravio.

Mislio sam da počnem od Svetskog prvenstva u freedivingu, gde je neko iz Bugarske iskopirao one tvoje ronioce — onog što glavom ide nadole jer ima dekompresiono stanje. Možeš da zamisliš kako sam se osećao kada sam video dizajn koji si ti smislio pre skoro trideset godina. Kao da si se odnekud nasmejao i rekao: „Eto vidiš, ipak sam bio ispred vremena.“

Ali pravi početak, ipak, nije bio tamo. Pravi početak se dogodio u tvom Torontu.

Došao sam nenadano, na Svetsko prvenstvo u fudbalu, i čim sam stigao, grad je počeo da mi vraća tebe. Ne kroz velike stvari, nego kroz one male, koje čoveka uhvate nespremnog. Setio sam se kako smo gurali bicikle po Torontu, onih helanki koje si mi poklonio i koje još uvek nosim, kao da sam ih juče dobio. Setio sam se i rukavica koje sam u međuvremenu odneo sve do Everest Base Campa. Eto, Mišice, deo tebe je stigao i tamo gde možda nismo zajedno planirali da odemo.

Naravno, prvo sam se čuo sa Tanjom i dogovorio da se vidimo.

Danas sam ih izveo na ručak i mogu da ti kažem: svi su dobro. Divna ti je porodica. Znam da to možda već znaš, jer ako iko ume da gleda odozgo, onda si to ti. Ali hoću da ti kažem kao drug drugu.

Andrej liči na tebe po svemu. Po koraku, po rukama, po nekoj sigurnosti koju nosi. Čak mu je i frizura nemarna onako kako si je ti nosio, kao da kosa nije nešto čime čovek treba previše da se bavi. Teodora je prava lepotica. Ima u njoj neku jasnoću, neku unutrašnju urednost. Siguran sam da ni oni ne bi bili takvi, niti bi moj utisak bio tako snažan, da Tanja o svemu ne vodi računa.

Možeš da budeš ponosan.

Imaju sada šesnaest godina. Zamisli, već su u onim godinama kada se detinjstvo polako pakuje u kutije, a život počinje da traži ozbiljne odgovore. Spremaju se za poslednje dve presudne godine. Imaju ispite kao da su već na fakultetu. Baš su učili matematiku i „science“, kako se ovde zovu fizika, hemija i biologija za njihov uzrast. Sve je to nekako ozbiljno, kanadski uređeno, sa planovima, testovima, rokovima i papirima.

Verovatno znaš da Teodora želi da upiše kineziologiju, a Andrej avijatiku. Složili smo se da neće biti lako, ali su bar izabrali poslove u kojima ih veštačka inteligencija neće lako zameniti.

Ah, da, ti se nisi susreo sa AI.

To ti je „artificial intelligence“, nešto kao kompjuter koji sve zna, sve pamti, sve povezuje i već sada mnoge poslove čini nepotrebnim. Svet je u međuvremenu otišao daleko, toliko daleko da ponekad ni mi koji smo ostali nismo sigurni da ga razumemo. Kompjuteri pišu, crtaju, računaju, prevode, predviđaju. Ljudi ih pitaju za savete, za dijagnoze, za ljubav, za budućnost.

Ali tebe, Mišice, ne bi mogla da zameni.

Nema te veštačke inteligencije koja ume da roni, da popravi, da smisli, da nacrta, da pita kad treba, da kaže baš ono što treba i da ostavi iza sebe stvari koje posle trideset godina neko još uvek kopira. Nema algoritma koji ima tvoje ruke. Nema programa koji ima tvoju snalažljivost. I nema mašine koja može da bude drug.

Ostajem još nekoliko dana, pa se nadam da ću uspeti da vidim ono što nisam ranije — tvoju jedrilicu i kućicu. Tanja kaže da je prikolica malo utonula i da je morala da renovira kućicu, jer je deo plafona pao. Verovatno to nije uradila onako kako bi ti. Ti bi sigurno znao neki jednostavniji, bolji, praktičniji način. Ali važno je da znaš: sve funkcioniše. Nekako, uz mnogo truda, sve ide dalje.

A Tanja ima mnogo obaveza. Nije to samo posao, kuća, deca i sve ono što život neumorno traži. Tu su i Teodorini treninzi. Zamisli, ona ide na odbojkaška takmičenja, ali mora da plati sve — i učešće, i opremu, i put. Kanađani me stalno iznenađuju, ali ovo je previše. Klub koji uzima novac od juniora da bi se takmičili u Kanadi. Ovde se, izgleda, sve naplaćuje. Čak i ono što bi trebalo da bude dečji san.

Zamisli, u mom hotelu nema bife doručka. Sve se naručuje à la carte. Dva jaja na oko, tri mala parčeta slanine, dva tosta i kafa — ili, kako bi ti rekao, crna voda — koštaju 54 dolara. Verovatno ni ti ne bi prepoznao cene. Možda je to zato što sam u čuvenom Royal York hotelu, pa je sve „royal“. Kao u „Petparačkim pričama“, kada Travolta i Samuel L. Jackson pričaju o Big Mac-u koji se u Francuskoj zove „Royale with cheese“. Šta će Kanađani, kad imaju kralja. Kao u kralju Ibiju, kada Zoran Radmilović kaže “Narode moj!” a naord ćuti i doručkuje.

A da ne kritikujem mnogo čuveni hotel, šaljem ti sliku iz lobija, pored drveta koje izgleda kao da je izašlo iz „Čarobnjaka iz Oza“. Tanja kaže da ima drugu simboliku, ali meni sasvim odgovara Oz. Jer Oz je mesto gde ništa nije sasvim obično, gde se stvarnost i bajka dodiruju, gde svako traži nešto što ima u sebi. Zato mi je drago što i dalje mogu povremeno da popričam sa tobom.

Ne znam da li ti tamo negde sve vidiš. Volim da mislim da si negde iznad vode, iznad grada, iznad svih naših nespretnih pokušaja da nastavimo bez tebe. I da se, kad god pogrešimo, malo nasmeješ.

♥

We have not spoken in a long time.

Or, more precisely, we have not spoken the way we used to — on the phone, while walking, with laughter, with your questions and stories that somehow always solved things immediately. But you know how it is: with some people, the conversation never really ends. Only the form changes. Instead of a message, a memory appears, just when a person thinks he has forgotten.

I thought I would begin with the Freediving World Championship, where someone from Bulgaria copied those divers of yours — the one going headfirst downward because he has decompression sickness. You can imagine how I felt when I saw a design you had created almost thirty years ago. It was as if you smiled from somewhere and said: “You see, I was ahead of my time after all.”

But the real beginning was not there.

The real beginning happened in your Toronto.

I arrived unexpectedly, for the Football World Cup, and as soon as I got there, the city started giving you back to me. Not through big things, but through small ones — the kind that catch a person unprepared. I remembered us pushing bicycles through Toronto, those leggings you gave me and which I still wear, as if I had received them yesterday. I also remembered the gloves I have since carried all the way to Everest Base Camp. So, my dear Miša, a part of you reached even a place we perhaps never planned to visit together.

Of course, the first thing I did was call Tanja and arrange to see her.

Today I took them out for lunch, and I can tell you: everyone is well. You have a wonderful family. I know you may already know that, because if anyone knows how to watch from above, it is you. But I still want to tell you, as one friend to another.

Andrej resembles you in everything. In his walk, in his hands, in the quiet confidence he carries. Even his hair is casually unkempt, just like yours used to be, as if hair were not something a man should be too concerned about. Teodora is truly beautiful. There is a clarity in her, an inner order. I am certain they would not be the way they are, nor would my impression be so strong, if Tanja were not taking care of everything.

You can be proud.

They are sixteen now. Imagine that — already at that age when childhood slowly begins to be packed away into boxes, and life starts demanding serious answers. They are preparing for the last two decisive years. They have exams as if they were already at university. They were studying mathematics and “science,” as physics, chemistry and biology are called here for their age group. Everything seems somehow serious, orderly in that Canadian way, with plans, tests, deadlines and papers.

You probably know that Teodora wants to study kinesiology, and Andrej aviation. We agreed it will not be easy, but at least they have chosen fields in which artificial intelligence will not easily replace them.

Ah yes, you never really encountered AI.

That is “artificial intelligence” — something like a computer that knows everything, remembers everything, connects everything, and is already making many jobs unnecessary. The world has moved so far ahead in the meantime, so far that sometimes even those of us who remained are not sure we understand it anymore. Computers write, draw, calculate, translate, predict. People ask them for advice, for diagnoses, for love, for the future.

But you, my dear Miša, could not be replaced.

There is no artificial intelligence that knows how to dive, how to fix things, how to invent, how to draw, how to ask at the right moment, how to say exactly what needs to be said, and how to leave behind things that someone is still copying thirty years later. No algorithm has your hands. No program has your resourcefulness. And no machine can be a friend.

I am staying a few more days, so I hope I will finally manage to see what I never saw before — your sailboat and your little house. Tanja says the trailer has sunk a little and that she had to renovate the house because part of the ceiling had fallen down. She probably did not do it the way you would have done it. You would certainly have known some simpler, better, more practical way. But what matters is that you know this: everything is functioning. Somehow, with a great deal of effort, life goes on.

And Tanja has many obligations. It is not only work, the house, the children, and everything else that life relentlessly demands. There are also Teodora’s trainings. Imagine, she goes to volleyball competitions, but they have to pay for everything — participation, equipment, travel, everything. Canadians keep surprising me, but this is too much. A club taking money from juniors so they can compete in Canada. It seems that here everything is charged for. Even what should be a child’s dream.

Imagine this: in my hotel there is no breakfast buffet. Everything is ordered à la carte. Two fried eggs, three small pieces of bacon, two slices of toast and coffee — or, as I would say, black water — cost 54 dollars. You probably would not recognize the prices either. Maybe it is because I am staying at the famous Royal York Hotel, so everything is “royal.” Like in Pulp Fiction, when Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson talk about the Big Mac being called a “Royale with cheese” in France. What can Canadians do, when they have a king? Like in King Ubu, when Zoran Radmilović says, “My people!” — and the people remain silent and eat breakfast.

And so that I do not criticize the famous hotel too much, I am sending you a photo from the lobby, beside a tree that looks as if it came out of The Wizard of Oz. Tanja says it has a different symbolism, but Oz suits me perfectly. Because Oz is a place where nothing is entirely ordinary, where reality and fairy tale touch, where everyone is searching for something they already carry within themselves.

That is why I am glad that I can still talk to you from time to time.

I do not know whether you can see everything from wherever you are. I like to think that you are somewhere above the water, above the city, above all our clumsy attempts to continue without you. And that, whenever we make a mistake, you smile a little.