painted white, sarajevo

XVII

Elias' phone vibrated next to him, and as he spared a look at the caller, he swept it off the table. "Ada?"

"Yes, this does happen to be Ada," the female voice on the other end said.

"Did something happen?" Elias asked, raising an eyebrow and forgetting that Ada, being on the other end of the line, couldn't see him. "I mean, y'know, something going on?"

"Are you all right, Mr. Wilcox?"

"Oh, um, yes, perfectly fine," Elias laughed, digging his hands into his hair as another hole punched itself through his chest, right where his heart was. "What 'bout you, Ada?"

A slight huff. "My health is fine, thank you. Things are hard, but I'm surviving. I suppose the heavy workload is something new to me. I like it."

"Oh." Elias coughed into his sleeve, and tapped the table with his fingers. "So...why'd you call?"

"I'd just thought you might want to know that the entries are coming to a slow. There's only two more. I should finish them by tomorrow at the latest."

Elias froze.

Two? Just two? That was it? Over a span of three years, Safet had written very little in comparison to some people now, who wrote in their notebook daily.

Now, his tale was starting to come to a close.

He forced himself through the rock in his throat, confused to why it was there, why it existed. He had learned from Safet. This world didn't struggle often, but the siege on Sarajevo showed how dark and cruel people could be when they wanted power, when they wanted to show someone their "rank" or "status," when they wanted to rule others.

"I see," he managed.

"Is...your friend there?"

"Kane? Uh, no, sorry. I'll tell him later if you want me to."

Ada paused for a moment. "Do whatever you want. Once my task is over, I'lI have no reason to affiliate myself with you anymore, Mr. Wilcox. Despite the limited interactions, it has been a pleasure."

"The end's not here yet, Ada." Elias grinned. "Just you wait. You'll get recognized, too."

"I have no wish to be recognized. You are the one making the argument, but I'm just...someone happy to help. Knowing I was able to contribute is enough for me. My fame will come later. My dream and promise to my mother will fulfill itself. But you and this notebook are not the way."

Flitting across the room, Elias' eyes couldn't decide where to land and what to stay on. They strayed and strayed, dancing and moving. He forgot that he had to speak, so it was only after Ada cleared her throat that he snapped attention back to the conversation.

"You're a good person, Ada. A great person, actually. You helped me when I had no idea what to do. A candle in the darkness will always help, you know? It might not be a full-fledged light, but it helps in the darkness."

He could hear her smile. "Thank you, Mr. Wilcox."

He laughed into the phone, but the air shifted as his tone became serious. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"I have copied the last two pages of the notebook," she said. "I will drop the notebook by your hotel soon, and you can decide what to do with it. You need proof for your argument, do you not?"

"Uh, yeah, I mean, I guess."

"Excellent. Tomorrow morning, then."

Tomorrow morning? When did he have to head back home so that his boss wouldn't get mad at him? What day was it? Did he have enough time?

"Sure. That'll work. Have a good day, Ada."

"You, too. The email I'm about to send you has the latest entries..."

With that, she hung up. Elias set his phone beside him. After a moment of thinking, the archaeologist drew himself up to his full height, swiping his phone off the table and leaving the room. After locking the door, he quietly walked outside into the street, the bright sunshine hitting his eyes.

The city of Wistinburg—Sarajevo—was alive. People, even in the drowsiness of the city, walked by with a sharp stride to their step.

Today felt different.

Elias tilted his head back, looking at the flags that flew above his head, their dark blue shapes contrasting greatly against the orange of the flag. The flags were everywhere. Looking behind him, the hotel had a flag hanging, too. What was going on?

They led him down the street, to where the people of the city were gathering. Elias glanced down at them in curiosity, noting the dark blue and orange colors most people were wearing.

Curiously, he followed. Despite his stature of being someone from New Amsterdam, the archaeologist was easily swept into the crowd and carried along. Around him, colors flashed, and upon passing a bench, Elias realized that they were at some sort of park.

Trees stretched up with the colorful flag tangling itself across its branches. The dirt scuffled underneath the feet of the people there.

"Wakateshi minnak!" One of the women at the table set up under a tree handed him a flag wrapped around a plastic cylinder. She then pointed at the chalk sticks laying on the table, all in the select two colors he had been seeing this entire time. Blue and orange.

Elias took the blue one hesitantly. Taking his hand, the woman motioned to her arm.

"Um, sorry, I don't live here?"

Taking the chalk, she drew a line down her arm, then gestured at other people.

Elias' eyes lit up as they turned towards the others, dilating out of wonder and curiosity at the sight of people drawing lines down each other's arms, either blue or orange.

"Thank you," he said to the woman, smiling. His mind was a whirlwind—confused and swept up in his own events—but his heart lifted from hearing continuous laughter of children zipping around, trying to draw on one another.

"Wakateshi minnak," she said again with a bow.

His heart rose in his chest, and he couldn't stop smiling, eyes crinkling naturally. Around him, the city of Wistinburg was alive for the first time.

Age didn't matter. As he walked around, hesitant to get into the "game," he saw old women walking around trying to mark a young child, who was teasingly darting away every few moments.

"Wakateshi minnak," Elias repeated to himself, testing the words on his tongue. After walking a few steps forward, one child came running up to him, her brown eyes the color of the ground with the sun ironed upon it. It was a warm brown, chestnuts cast in the red ground.

After a moment, she swiped the chalk across his arm with a cheerful "Wakateshi minnak!'

Elias dragged his chalk across the girl's palm and repeated the words back to her, his smile growing. Her face glowed as he grinned at her, and it was only after her entire index finger was coated with blue chalk that she ran off.

Minutes started to blur into one another. The sky turned dreary again, but Elias had lost count of how many people he had said the words "Wakateshi minnak" to. His entire being—his clothes, a light cream shirt with black pants—was covered in smears of blue and orange, but he felt happy.

His phone had puffs of orange chalk on it, but when Elias sat down, he just blew it off. With a deep inhale, he prepared himself for the second to last entry of Safet's story.