A Couple of Hours with Dragan

Monday, I met my Serbian buddy Dragan in the park. He was one of my fellow students from my "Deutsch im Park" lessons.

We talked for a few minutes, then he said: "I must buy cigarettes; can we walk?" So we walked to the Turkish marketplace, found a Trafik, and made the transaction. Back at the park, the discussion began.

I drew a crude map of Oklahoma on a 3 X 5 card. "Below is Texas, above is Kansas, right is Arkansas, left is New Mexico. The land is flat, except in a few places with small mountains. I live here"---I drew a dot in the middle of the map---"and it is the largest city. The other large city is here:" [dot for Tulsa].

We spotted a guy in a wheelchair, sitting at a table with some other guys. Though not a member of the class, he used to roll his chair up and join in sometimes. He's also Serbian, and also named Dragan. "He is gypsy," my buddy said. "Roma."

"Tell me about the Roma," I said.

"Eh, Roma come first from India. They live in many lands---Romania, Albania, Serbia. They have their own language, which is different from place to place but they understand. Also the language of the country they live. All Roma have two languages, at least."

"You can tell he's Roma by looking at him?" I asked, pointing at the other Dragan, who by now was in a discussion with a shirtless drunk. "Yes, sure," he said. "I know them."

It basically went on like this---we were practicing our German, but since Dragan is better at it, he was also teaching me. It started to rain a bit so he said, "I know Serbian cafe. We go there, yes?" So we went there, yes, and the place was empty except for us. The woman serving us chatted to Dragan in Serbian. "I want a Serbian beer," I said. "Tell me a good one to buy." So Dragan ordered us a couple. He taught me a Serbian toast which basically means, "To life."

It was raining like hell outside by now---we could see people rushing past the open door, umbrellas or newspapers covering their heads. Dragan whipped out a piece of notebook paper and turned it upside down so I could see it across the table. "This is my family," he said.

It was a drawing of a tree---not badly done, either. He pointed at the uppermost branch. "Here are my children." You could see their names written there. Further down the branch: "Here is me," with Dragan's name. A branch to the left of that: "Here is my brother." And on down to the trunk.

Dragan's history: When he was about 2 1/2 and his brother 8 months old, they went to live with their grandparents while the parents moved to Vienna. I don't know why, but the parents stayed in Vienna and the boys in Serbia. I guess it was to earn money to send home...

After WW II, the country of Yugoslavia was created but really it was never a country, just "A false country made by Tito." It included what is now Serbia, Croatia, Montenegro, Macedonia, etc. Dragan said subsequent leaders haven't been any better than Tito---worse in some ways, better in others, but "Still not good. They only think of themselves, not the people. Different men, same clothes," he said, pulling on his shirt.

"In the US," I said, "big business controls the politicians. Money, money, money!" He nodded.

Dragan's wife is still in Vienna visiting, but she's going back on Sunday. He told me they live in a small village of about 1000 people, where everyone kind of looks out for each other. Dragan prefers his children to live in a village rather than in a large city. He is not an unsophisticated man, or close-minded....he just thinks some aspects of the city aren't wholesome for impressionable kids. I get the idea that big cities in Serbia can still be pretty rough around the edges, unlike Vienna.

He's trying to get work here, and probably will. The problem is, you have to be in Austria at least a year before you get a work permit, unless a company can convince the government they really need your services. Meantime he lives with his mom, who is a longtime legal resident here, and waits.

"What work did you do in Serbia?" I asked.

"I was policeman."

"The police department might want you," I said. "You speak Serbian, Russian, German, and English. That comes in handy in Vienna." He shrugged, "Eh, I am probably too old. Maybe not as policeman, but maybe I work with them as interpreter." He's not yet 40.

He took out a paper and wrote some things down for me. German grammar. "These are modal verbs. You learn them. It will help you."

"Do you have any questions about English?" I said. Dragan said: "Yes, but next time, please." We'd been together about two hours. He had to meet his wife and I had to meet B's sister for coffee, so we walked in a gentle rain to the subway station.

"Do you know a song called HEY, JOE?" he asked.

"Sure. Jimi Hendrix."

"Yes. I am living with my mother and she has no computer. Will you get on computer and give me copy of the words to HEY, JOE?"

"I'll do it, man. I'll call you next Monday and we'll get together."

"Thank you!" We shook hands and went our separate ways.

I like Dragan. He seems like a good dude.