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Eric took the leather between his fingers. It felt thick, like elephant hide. He tried it on. Encased in the sturdy, supple jacket, he felt protected. He bought it, along with a few suit jackets, in an effort toārefineā his image after noticing that most people in Belgrade, unlike him, didnāt slouch around in tennis shoes and T-shirts. However, the leather jacket, which he wore like a talisman, only served to heighten his already conspicuous appearance and attract the bemused attention of his colleagues. Stephen didnāt buy this explanation. The next night, the same thing happened. They drove slowly in silence. Eric noticed the body of a small man wearing a cap, curled up on the side of the road as if he was asleep. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine the manās fight for life under siege, to wonder who he was, how he died, and why he put on his hat today. Eric wished they could stop, wake him up, and tell him that his suffering was over. Ilijaz turns next to a thirty-five-year-old man who, like the man who just died, is hemorrhaging from a leg injury. He is awake, in pain, and asking quietly for help. Ilijaz believes he is verging on shock, and expects Nedret to amputate his leg immediately.
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