The first question that might pop into your head, upon viewing this early photo of B, T & V (here aged about 9, 7, and 5 respectively), is whether their parents went into collective raincoat shopping for the kids. Then you might start thinking and looking a bit more closely, at which point you might make an educated guess regarding the swapping and handing down of clothes between the kids in the neighbourhood. Not necessarily the case here, but quite possible -- given the fact that B's sleeves seem somewhat short, while V's are a trifle too long.
And then, if you knew that the picture was taken in the 70s in Bosnia -- then still the pulsating heart of what was known as Yugoslavia -- you'd probably (and fallaciously, but that's ok) make an assumption that kids of working citizens all wore uniform-like plain clothes in the name of brotherhood and equality.
And they do look sort of "equalized" here (in front of T's apartment building; B & V lived in the building across the street), with the cute gradation of their respective heights and ages and hypnotizingly similar nuances of whites, browns and greys of the black-and-white photo.
In the late 70s the centripetal forces were still at work, and B, T, & V are held by the same centre here (even if it was simply the authority of an adult photo-taker who told them to stand close and hold hands for the picture). They are friends (T can't recall any other friends before B and V), and they will continue to share the same childhood mini-constellation for a little while longer after this photo, before the centre gives out, falls apart, and they are shot out into different galaxies of adulthood. Don't hold your breath: once launched into opposite directions, their trajectories kept travelling further and further apart, and are still speeding away from each other as we speak. It doesn't stop us, however, from staying a little more in that moment, in front of 9 Belgrade Street, T's building, where they and their six hands are close together. So, going from left to right, first there is B.
B. B for boy, for boycott, for battle. A quick glance says it all: his coat is unbuttoned (as opposed to T's and V's duly buttoned ones), his brow is frowned, his look deliberately away from any adults behind the camera trying to attract their attention for a "good" picture, and he is standing on the outer edges of his feet. In a small act of rebellious impatience, his right thumb is pressing against his forefinger. He doesn't want to be there, and doesn't want to be still, and hold hands with a girl (even though she's a friend) because when you're 9, you just don't do things like those. And, perhaps, because B doesn't like to be in line.
Then T. T for temperate, for tense, for traitor? She is the epitome of being in line: her feet -- in tightly laced shoes -- are obediently next to each other, for greater stability. She is standing straight up, like a Tito's little pioneer ready to salute, except that her two hands are busy being anchors in this photo-op. She is holding on to B on her right and V on her left (with their hands in an awkward position), as if without her grounding effort the two brothers would bounce off their momentary gravitational core and go do something more fun. In her right pocket a white handkerchief, or a pack of kleenex, is neatly stuffed, foreshadowing a possible tendency for over-preparedness. A smile, somewhat stiff around the edges, fulfills the presumed request of the photo-taker.
And finally, V. V for valiant, for verbal, for vatic. With a quietly benign face, he is accepting the oversizedness of his clothes (the lapels of the raincoat are too wide, the sleeves too long, the trouser-legs too ample), and the instructions for the pose-taking. Slightly angled towards T on his right, he closes off the figure of three, with a tiny sliver of his left arm missing from the frame. In a disarmingly vulnerable gesture, his left hand touches lightly his chest, around the heart, as if he'd been startled and was catching his breath. A little old man.
I was at 9 Belgrade Street the other day, after a long time. A lot has changed. The building is still there but number 9 is not written in chalk on the wall any more, and the entrance door (which reflects B and V's building in the photo) has been fully replaced by a modern set of secure doors, now always closed. The buzzer (also upgraded) carries a few of the old names, but most of them are new. The boot rack at the foot of the stairs (which used to create a small metallic racket every time someone stepped on it, sending reverberations through the motionless heat in the summer when all the windows were open, and announcing visitors) is also there, but seems to have new metal bars which are much more silent when stepped on. B, T & V are long gone, and are replaced by some new kids.
The new kids, as it happens, don't wear the uniform-like raincoats any more.
June 15, Belgrade
