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āOh. I was just asking because Iām epilepticā¦,ā the orderly said, trailing off apologetically. THAT SAME FIRST WEEK OF APRIL 1992, Dr. Ilijaz Pilav, a twenty-eight-year-old general practitioner at the Srebrenica health clinic, also sat glued to his television set, watching images of a reality he had, until then, failed to imagine. With small, intense eyes beneath thick, worried brows, he took in news of the violence kicking up in nearby towns, hopping like a tornado toward Srebrenica. In spite of the dissolution of Yugoslavia and the fighting in Croatia, the possibility of war in Bosnia had merely tickled the edge of his conscious mind, a mind more focused on personal concerns and a major family illness. She told him her mother wanted to remain in Bratunac. He begged her to reconsider, and she agreed to think about it. He planned to call her in the afternoon to check.
