Today I met a fellow who was born in the house that once stood roughly where my house now stands. Eugenio Maisani is his name. He told me that the original family name, which can still be found in the cadastral records, used to be Maizzan. His family fled to Italy in 1947, when the town was nearly deserted. Only a handful of Italian families remained. Many Italians left Istria around this time, when there was a great deal of tension between Italy and Yugoslavia over the fate of Trieste. The exodus has left a wound that still festers. In his late sixties, Eugenio now lives in Turin. He comes to Istria for vacations only, but he uses every opportunity to return to Motovun. He is sad to see his old house gone, and he finds the architecture of the new house incompatible with the rest of the town, but he accepts that its new terrace is its greatest asset. I invited him to visit me whenever he comes around, and we exchanged addresses and phone numbers. He did not strike me as a man who would appreciate the way I had refurbished the house, but I knew that he would relish such visits nevertheless. Who knows how much more I will learn from him over the years, but I certainly hope we will see each other a few more times. Old wounds merit special care.

Addendum I (August 22, 2003)

As I was leaving the post office this morning, I bumped into Eugenio. We shook hands. “Would you like to see the house now?” I asked. He said he would. He had nothing else to do. We chatted about the Motovun of his childhood on our way down Borgo. He is on the portly side, and we walked quite slowly. When we reached my house, I pulled out the key and walked to the door. “But this is not my house!” he said. Then he pointed to the next house down the street: “This is where I was born!” The old house was long gone, though. I invited him to my place, anyway. “The family that lived here was called Marin,” he said, “but I am not sure whether they actually owned the place.” Eugenio remembered that they had a grocery store. “Your house is in the spirit of the town I knew,” he commented, “but the house next door is an abortion!” He loved my terrace, but he kept looking sideways. “That terrace is nice, too,” he smiled. One way or another, we will remain close, I am quite sure.

Addendum II (December 4, 2003)

Having unexpectedly accomplished several administrative feats in Pazin, this morning I decided to go to the Cadastral Office and check the ownership history of my house—that is, the house that once stood in its place. Another feat awaited me. The office was open and there was no line. The woman on duty was quite pleasant, too. She brought out several cadastral books, all of which looked pretty ancient. Before Ljiljana and Maja Samokovlić, from whom I bought the house, the owner was Jakub Samokovlić, their husband and father, respectively. The ownership was entered into the register in 1976, several years after the house was rebuilt. The property was in public ownership since 1955, when it was nationalized. To the best of my knowledge, the house that was there before mine was already derelict by that time. From 1940 to 1955 the owner is listed as “Paolini Francesco fu Marino.” The original family name was thus Marino, the Italian version of the Venetian Marin. This bears out Eugenio Maisani’s story. According to the woman on duty, going further back in time would be much more difficult, but my curiosity was sated already. God only knows how the older cadastral books now look, though.

Addendum III (August 6, 2004)

Eugenio is back in town. Although he is retired, he comes to Motovun every August, when most of Italy is on vacation. This time he brought me a copy of an old photograph of his house, which also shows the house that stood in the place of my own. To the best of his recollection, the photograph was taken around 1950, several years after his family’s departure. Some Italians must have remained this late after World War II to take this photograph. To my surprise, my house looks very much like the one that once stood in its place, minus the ground floor, where the grocery store used to be. The main door was at the same place, but there was another door and a few stone steps leading to it. This must have been the store. However, Eugenio’s house was pretty different than the one that has replaced it. It had a large door graced with an ample arch. To each side of the door there was a large window protected by an elaborate grill. Eugenio says he is dreaming about buying the house back and restoring it to its original shape. Whenever I see him walking slowly down Borgo, I can almost feel his quiet anguish. That missing arch must be painful, indeed.

Addendum IV (August 9, 2017)

I just learned that Eugenio Maisani is no more. He was quite ill for a while, and then he passed away. The news struck me pretty hard, and I did my best to control my tears. Although I had not seen Eugenio for a few years, he was very close to my heart. He was my neighbor, as it were. His old house belonged to Istra Toner when I came to Motovun, and it belongs to Jakov Vrtarić since a couple of years ago, but it still belonged to Eugenio in my own mind. His spirit will cling to it in the future, as well. Farewell, dear neighbor!