We slowly realized that our game wouldn’t have a large number of players unless something changed. Nothing was happening. We didn’t know how to attract more players. When a game doesn’t become a hit, no one informs the programmers about it. Time passes, and there’s a smaller number of players, so over time we understand that a larger number just won’t come. Occasionally, we’d get a report about some bug, which we would fix, check the stats, and nothing special would happen.
We stopped by the pub owned by Little Sava. Max knew everyone there. We sat in the garden, which had once been the backyard of a house. Last weekend, Max had been quite sharp in defending his views, and later, Boshko told me that Matija didn’t like it.
“Matija was venting his troubles to Boshko, mostly about you.”
“Venting? What kind of word is that?”
“It’s a word my grandmother used. It means verbally expressing one’s frustration, telling someone something that bothers them, not because they have to, but because it makes them feel better. Something like that.”
“So, venting, delivering his frustration to the old artist.”
“Something like that.”
Max didn’t want to comment, but he liked the new word. He switched the topic to his computer football game against Yanko the night before. He was doing well, while Yanko constantly had new excuses. I think I memorized all of them.
- My joystick is broken.
- The referee is rooting for you.
- You brought some weird beer, it knocked me out.
- This Manchester team is bad, if I played with Real, it wouldn’t be like this.
- Real is bad, if I played with Manchester, it wouldn’t be like this.
- You’re playing badly, and I started playing like you.
- My tactics aren’t offensive enough.
- I’m just unlucky.
- My players don’t move well.
- I’m talking to you, and you’re scoring goals.
I had to relay Yanko’s excuses for table tennis.
- The ball bounces weirdly.
- My racket is broken.
- The light bothers me.
- My hoodie is in the way.
- My shoulder is stiff.
- The room is small, I can’t escape (whatever that means).
Max commented on how he hadn’t seen him much recently. He had seen him a few times, always doing some medical tests. He asked Marin if he was healthy, and Marin said all the tests were fine, but he was still getting checked. Max didn’t know what he was suspicious of. He called him and insisted that he come right away to Little Sava’s.
The longer I sat here, the more I liked the place. Maybe only in Cubismo was it more comfortable, but the garden here is much better. Cubismo is basically on a transit route and doesn’t have a proper garden. The pub owner, Little Sava, appeared. He’s 195 cm tall and weighs 140 kg. I could have guessed. He greeted Max and introduced himself to me. He told us a lot about the history of this place. What interested me most was the story about how this house ended up being the biggest in the street. It belonged to Little Sava’s grandfather. It’s located on streets that are angled to the Boulevard (Little Sava says the Boulevard is angled to these streets because they were built first, and later the whole city changed orientation). At the beginning of the street, there’s a house slightly smaller than this one. When the owner of that house was planning the construction, he asked Sava’s grandfather the dimensions of his house. The grandfather said they were slightly smaller than they actually were. The neighbor built a house one meter longer. When the house was finished, he came to tell Sava’s grandfather that his house was now the biggest in the street, but Sava’s grandfather said his was still the biggest because he had lied to him about the width and length by one meter.
“How did he immediately figured out why he was asked? The grandfather is a genius.”
Yanko arrived just in time to hear this story and then changed the subject to the renovation of the house into a pub. Max and I exchanged surprised looks at his knowledge of materials. Later, he explained that during the war, he knew every neighbor’s house structure—whether the ceiling was made of concrete or wood—because they hid in the sturdiest buildings during shelling.
“These houses in Vojvodina aren’t any shelter.”
When Little Sava left, Yanko commented that a lot of money had been invested here and that Sava was probably rich. Max said that wealthy people should be supported, and this somehow reminded Yanko of the time spent in Boshko’s atelier.
“Matija thinks David is rude.”
“Why me, out of all people, Max…”
It turned out that Matija didn’t like my answer when he asked what my ambitions were. I said that my short-term goal was to become a night watchman, and my long-term goal was to become a nouveau-riche.
“He says you need to be removed from the street, to be guided a bit.”
Max objected.
“Why remove us from the street? The streets are great. I love the streets. Much better than being indoors.”
Lazar and Marin told him they wouldn’t be coming anymore because it was boring. Max commented:
“And Matija, will he ever get bored? There’s no chance of him giving up.”
Before Yanko came, Max commented that Yanko spent more and more time with Lazar and Marin and was picking up some of their traits. He said I should invite him more to hang out.
“I see. Maybe I won’t be here soon, and neither will Ian. If something doesn’t happen with the game, I’ll probably take that offer from my uncle. I’m here now to try and pass exams. Can you say for sure you’ll be here next year?”
“No. Yeah, then it’s better for him to have company and get a little guidance.”
“So he’s not on the street…“
