Free The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic Page B

in his right hand, he held a long cane. 
    The wave of feelings that came to me was overwhelming. The first emotion was, of course, fear. My initial thought was to run. But where? They were standing at the only entrance. The follow up thought was to fight. But why? What would that accomplish? And could I even win? Then came the peace. The unexpected peace. I realized what I should’ve realized a long time ago. There was no escape. No matter how many times I changed towns, cities, countries, or even continents, they’d always find me. No matter how long I’d reject it, the orange would always be there for me to take it. I had a choice of being followed for the rest of my life, or accepting the damn orange and seeing what happened. 
    With no energy left to resist, I muttered, “If I take it… Will you tell me why?”
    Rose smiled even wider than before. She looked over her shoulder to the man, who nodded slightly in approval. She looked back at me, then at the orange behind me.
    “Alright,” I said, defeated.
    I walked over to that fucking thing lying on the floor. I got down on one knee and took a second to study the piece of fruit. It looked just like a regular orange, except that it was a bit rotten. This was it. I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes, and took the orange. I don’t know what I expected, really. I guess I (and probably you) expected some sort of immediate reaction from the universe. I thought about this moment many times before it actually happened, and taking the orange was never so… uneventful in my head. It was unusually quiet. When I finally opened my eyes, I realized that I was just holding a piece of rotten fruit, nothing more and nothing less. I turned around and looked at Rose and the man.
    Her head wasn’t tilted anymore, and the man had taken his hat off.
    They looked normal.
    “Come in,” I said, lowering myself into a seated position on the floor.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    ELEVEN
     
    The Story of Her Holding an Orange
    Rose looked over to the man once again, and after another approving nod from him, she slowly walked into the room and sat in the only chair in the apartment. 
    “What would you like to know?” she asked, smiling. She didn’t speak in the unnaturally childish voice she had used before, but in her natural tone. I almost felt relieved.
    “Everything,” I answered, looking at the man who still stood at the door.
    “Curious, aren’t we?” she said in a friendly tone, “I’ll try my best.”
    I am telling you the full story now, which I’ve pieced together from all of the information from both Rose and my grandmother’s findings. This is the story of how Rose became the woman holding an orange.
     
    ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
     
    My great-grandfather Jovo was only eighteen when he met my great-grandma Anka in the early 1920’s. It was one of those love-at-first-sight things and they got married only a few weeks later. Anka became pregnant with my grandmother Dana shortly after. My great-grandfather was an adventurer and a world traveler, and he would often go on long trips by himself. The arrival of the child, however, changed that. He was no longer able to embark on exotic journeys because money was tight and responsibilities were piling up. I suppose that every man reaches a point when he has to stop being a kid and start being a grownup. Jovo wanted to be both.
    During the late 1920’s in Bosnia, there was a huge craze for African safaris in Europe. For some reason, African countries heavily advertised their tourism and many, many people went on those trips. Prices were affordable - how often does a regular person get to go on a safari? So, when my great-grandpa heard an ad on the radio offering a special honeymoon discount for one of those trips to Kenya, he didn’t think twice. After some persuading, Anka agreed to Jovo’s spontaneous idea and soon they were packing. They even managed to talk Anka’s parents into taking care of my grandma while