I just walked past Predrag Matvejević in the center of Zagreb. At first I had hard time recognizing the foremost Croatian writer who is still around and about on account of a thick woolen hat that covered much of his face. We exchanged a quick nod, but I was sure he had no idea who I was. Judging by his tilt and shuffle, he is in rather poor shape. As soon as I got back home, I checked his age on the World Wide Web. Born in 1932, he is only fourteen years my senior. Both of my parents looked much better at his age, to be sure. Out of the blue, sadness overtook me. I would have wished that Matvejević were in much better shape. It did not take me long to realize that I was feeling increasingly alone in Zagreb. Intellectuals are becoming history here, and fast. What is worse, the Croatian capital is hardly an exception in the so-called civilized world. In a few short years, intellectuals will join the growing ranks of extinct species. Just like orangutans and gorillas.

Addendum (February 2, 2017)

Predrag Matvejević passed away earlier today. He was eighty-four. Apparently, he never fully recovered from a stroke he had a couple of years ago. Alas, now I feel a bit more alone in the Croatian capital. No matter how frail he looked as of late, he was still company of sorts. Whenever I spotted him in the center of the city, my heart went to him. Our brief exchanges via electronic mail a decade or so ago were enough for me to feel that way. Farewell, Matvejević! Farewell, intellectuals, as well!