As I am looking at a woman in her late twenties or early thirties gingerly taking an infant of a few months out of a baby carriage in one of the squares in central Zagreb, I have a vision of a baby monkey falling out of its mother’s lap on top of a tall tree and bouncing off branches on its way down. I can see and hear everything as clearly as in a movie. Screeching at the top of her voice, the mother leaps from branch to branch all the way to the ground, where her baby lies limp. Screeching all the time, the mother takes her dead infant to a nearby bush. This is where my vision evaporates. The woman I am looking at holds her baby close to her bosom. Safe and sound, the little one looks pretty content, and maybe even happy.