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The handsome, dark-haired doctor regaled me for two full days, interrupting our conversation only to greet well-wishers, who called him by his first name,āDr. Nedret.ā His casual dress reflected confidence and charisma befitting a man who embarks on a journey knowing that it can lead to one of only two endpoints: martyrdom or magnificence. Nedret told me a story of triumph and tragedy, heroism and human weakness, of friendship and love survivingagainst all odds in a climate of anger and vengeance. All this took place in the town of Srebrenica, which, attacked in the presence of U.N. soldiers, became a central testing ground for U.S.-European relations, NATOās postāCold War significance, and what U.S. President George Bush senior dubbed āthe new world order.ā* * *
cost synthroid The crisp, fresh air filled with the lowing of cows and the yodels loosed by villagers. His mother labored in the kitchen, stooping over a table to roll thin leaves of dough that she layered into pans to bake meat pies calledburek or, when guests appeared, swiveling the handle of a copper coffee grinder in her lap, elbows akimbo. His father worked the land with his older brothers, angling groundward to chop wood, harvest crops, pitch hay, and slash the tall grasses. Ilijaz, the baby of the family, watched and begged to wield the scythe. āOh. I was just asking because Iām epilepticā¦,ā the orderly said, trailing off apologetically.
