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Eric thinks he might as well have stepped off a spaceship from Mars. Cigarettes for 100 marks? The place is shockingly isolated. He supposes the people jostling each other in the crowd are hungry and scared; he questions whether they understand what he has come to do. He becomes intensely aware of his freedom to leave. From the clinic’s porch, Ilijaz had a view of Srebrenica’s main street, the square PTT—post-telephone-telegraph—building and the town’s only gas station. Noisy little cars drove by, and, when the weather was fair, men clad in blue jeans and women dressed in skirts and light summer blouses strolled past.Some older women wore kerchiefs on their heads and the patterned bloomers, calleddimije, of Muslim villagers. They sauntered with the relaxed posture of people who could predict the contour of every inch of road in the small city and who recognized just about everyone who passed. “We destroyed them!” Akif grunted, “There’s as many weapons as you like, and now we’re moving on.” In his clinic on the other side of Srebrenica, Dr. Nijaz D?ani? also hears the airplane. He asks his nurse to go see what kind of plane and how close it is. She goes out through the waiting room and runs back inside a few seconds later.
