“Now we know what has been going on,” she looked straight into my eyes and wiped away a tear. “We were told what we would find, and we found it exactly where we were told it would be hidden.” Speaking to a nearly complete stranger about her family’s many misfortunes, and many there were, she had hard time controlling her tears. I just sat there and nodded whenever she fell silent. “After everything we have done for so many people here…” Having cast a quick contemptuous glance through the windows surrounding us, she broke down at these words. “We do not know who has done this to us,” she looked at me pointedly after a pause, “but there is no question about it any longer!” She took out her handkerchief to blow her nose, and I nodded once again. A proud and determined woman, she never used the word “witchcraft.” Not once.

Addendum (August 3, 2018)

Who is the woman in this story? After no less than fifteen years in Motovun, it is high time to spill it out, I reckon. Nada Cotić née Dragomanović is her name. She, her husband Miljenko, their two daughters and one son, as well as their many grandchildren have gone through many a turmoil in the meanwhile. And I am hardly exaggerating. But the valiant family is still fighting. And how. Each and every time I go to Kanal, where their café and restaurant towers prominently among the neighboring buildings, I make sure to visit the family and enquire about their fortunes. And I never fail to hug them all with all my might. Nada’s tears are still with me so many years hence. As for witchcraft, there is not a hint of it left at this time. Come to think of it, it may well be that I am the very last one in these parts who is still aware of it. But its future is still bright, I dare say. When it comes to family misfortunes, no other explanation has a chance in the long run. After all, witchcraft has been around for thousands upon thousands of years. For the time being, though, it is a secret. A closely-held family secret, to be a bit more precise.