For Nena, too, there was a covenant. But she did not sign it with a pen; she signed it with the blood of Sarajevo.
In early 1993 she was able to push herself on foot from Gorica to Dobrinja. And from there back to the roundabout, without fear of grenades and snipers. I"m sure the devils saw her from their sights, but they never shot at her. Perhaps they didn"t believe it possible that there was still a woman capable of walking around Sarajevo with her nails dyed red, her mascara on, her hair pulled back in a bun, with a placid gait capable of putting them off. Still, she did nothing different from the other women: she would line up and join the human procession to fill water canisters. People crowded a narrow street, the sighs she heard could be her last. She knew this, but she never aske
