CHAPTER 1
THE UNDERWEAR
In enrolling at the First Belgrade Gymnasium, I realized that the third-year curriculum consisted of two starkly different tracks: math and sciences or humanities and social sciences, also called "social." Since math was not my forte, the latter track seemed the obvious choice. But then I had a fateful encounter.
The first Monday in September 1965, I anxiously entered the school's crowded hallways looking for Dee. We had become friends while our fathers were on diplomatic assignments in the Middle East: his father in Syria, mine in Lebanon. Dee attended a boarding school in Mount Lebanon and used to spend weekends at our place in Beirut. He had returned to the First Belgrade a year earlier.
I felt lost amid the chatter of the returning cohorts. In a quiet corner, I started to tuck my shirt into my new pair of jeans. Mom had insisted on buying one size larger so that they would survive repeated washings. While trying to yank the jeans up my waist, I noticed the smiling eyes of a dark-haired lad. Pointing to the lacy ruffle of my underpants, he exclaimed: "Wow, you have red and blue elastic! Here you can only find white underwear. I'd pay good money for a pair like that. My name is Jo, by the way."
"Hello, my name is Don, and I'm looking for Dee," I responded. "I'll give you a pair of Arrow briefs if you take me to the third-year 'social' classroom."
"Social! Are you out of your mind? In here, smart guys and gals take the math and science track. Dee is in my class. He has the same last name as I do, but we are not related. So you better come with me. I'll introduce you to our homeroom teacher."
In horror, I raised my right hand to make a "no way" sign.
"Math is my Achilles' heel. I studied geometry in high school."
"Don't worry!" said Jo. "During the exams, I'll pass you the correct responses on a piece of paper. The math professor won't even notice, I promise — provided you give me a pair of your Arrow underwear. Come with me now."
Fifteen minutes later, we entered the classroom, and I saw Dee waving at me in surprise.
"Marhaba, Don, good to see you! But you are in the wrong place. This is a math and science classroom."
Before I could say a word, Jo exclaimed, "Hi, Dee! This friend of yours looks bright. So I convinced him to switch from social to our class, and Grandma Hadza has already agreed."
Dee looked at me with dismay and said, "Wow, that's a surprise Don! Last time we spoke, I also tried to convince you to join my class, but you said that social was your thing."
"Both you and Jo ended up convincing me. I guess it's just a matter of studying math."
"Inshallah! Because it's not only math. Physics and chemistry are also tough nuts to crack, believe me," said Dee.
Jo only waved his hand in disagreement and retorted, "Come on, Dee, don't scare him off. I just promised to help him in math. We can also study together the complicated physics and chemistry chapters."
"Fine, Jo, all's fine then," responded Dee in a conciliatory tone.
Turning to me again, he said, "But you should also know that we have a big handicap here."
"And what might that be?" Jo looked at him wide-eyed.
Dee got closer and almost whispered into my ear: "Well, look around the classroom. We are thirty-six students in here, and there are only eleven girls. In the social track, it's the other way around."
And he raised his voice slightly. "Whatever you may think, Jo, in my opinion, all the best-looking girls are in the social track. So, that's one huge handicap."
Jo's riposte was instantaneous. "Oh that's ridiculous, Dee! We have a smart guys' reputation. The best-looking girls would be a distraction in here. And we can always pick them up from the other classrooms. If you need my help, just ask."
The homeroom teacher assigned me to the third desk in the third row — close to the window — and next to a tall, gangly fellow with watery, light-blue eyes. He extended his right hand, with elongated, nicotine-stained fingers, and said matter-of-factly, "Welcome. My name is Vito. You'll start liking it here in a couple of months."
Changing schools is a traumatic experience, especially so late in high school. Thanks to Dee and Jo, I gradually entered their circle of friends. Jo's end-of-semester comment was, "It was not only thanks to your underwear, but also because you do play some football."
CHAPTER 2
DEE
Wide-faced, wide-shouldered, and blond, Dee, or Dejan Mijovic (pronounced DAY-un ME-yo-vich) displayed a self-assured image of worldliness. In addition to speaking fluent French, English, and Portuguese — a rarity in our time — he had an opera-like tenor voice. Dee liked to sweep us off our feet with his impromptu singing of "O sole mio," "Garota de Ipanema," and "Marjolaine."
His parents, Velimir and Leposava, met when Tito's partisans entered Mostar, Herzegovina, in 1944. His mother was born and raised there. His dad hailed from Virpazar, overlooking Lake Skadar in Montenegro. Together with three brothers and one sister, Velimir joined the partisan movement in the wake of Italian occupation. Velimir's sister, Danica, died in combat in 1942, and he named his only daughter after her.
The family property in Virpazar was known for its fine vineyard and quality red wine production. In 1943, an Italian military unit burned the place down after depleting the wine cellar. For their Belgrade marriage ceremony in 1947, Dee's parents received a special present: a case of red wine, bottled in their cellar shortly before the Italian raid.
Velimir joined the diplomatic corps, and Leposava became a medical doctor. They had four children — unusually numerous for postwar Yugoslavia — three boys and a girl. Dee, the oldest, and the next in line, Mladen, were born in Belgrade. Danica was born in Ljubljana, Slovenia. And the youngest, Vladimir, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Since childhood, Dee had dreamed of becoming a nuclear physicist,...
