It must be sad to see me in one of the two Zagreb bookstores with foreign books of all descriptions. I wander between the isles like a man lost. I leaf through books thick and thin as though they are contagious. Now and then I stop and turn around aimlessly. I look every which way, as though in pain. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Both attracted and repelled by the shelves stuffed full, I ricochet between the two stores like a ghost demented. And so for days. Confused, I occasionally give up the chase only to return to it a few hours later. And then, out of the blue, I remember Marcel Proust. Proust! Yes, I decide with conviction bordering on panic, I want to return to his masterpiece. This time in earnest. This time in French, too. Now I wander between the isles with blind determination. I look everywhere, squinting. “À la recherché du temps perdu,” I move my numb lips. The poor ladies working in the two bookstores nod back at me with understanding and spread their arms wide to show that I am on the wrong track still. They used to have it, of course, but not recently. In the end, I order the book. I do not care how many volumes in the edition, I mumble. I do not mind waiting a month or two, I frown. The cost is not a problem, I grin crookedly. And I return to the sunlit but frozen streets of the city of my birth utterly exhausted.

Addendum I (February 20, 2009)

As I was shaving this morning, Proust came to my mind. “It will be a real joy to read him in French,” I thought. Another thought followed in its wake: “And I already have One Thousand Nights and One Night, which he, too, loved.” It was as though I was thinking of books to take to a deserted island, I realized. Which prompted yet another thought: “And my Residua is always within my reach.” At this point I grinned at myself in the mirror.

Addendum II (March 17, 2009)

It has been nearly a month since my anxious order, and so I returned this morning to the Zagreb bookstore where I had placed it. Everyone I talked to was very confused. They kept sending me from one desk to another for a while. In the end, they admitted the order was never actually placed with the publisher. For some reason I was almost relieved. I can do the same thing myself via the World Wide Web. Chances are I can thus get a better deal, as well. At any rate, Proust will have to wait another month or two, but what is time with a book like his?!

Addendum III (July 3, 2012)

Things turned out rather different than planned, though. I searched the World Wide Web three years ago, but without any success. Having done everything in my power to find the book, I gave up at long last. But my beloved brought me a hefty volume from a French-speaking country she just visited (“Proust Forever,” July 3, 2012). She, too, had hard time finding it in a single volume, but she was successful in the end. I was over the moon, of course. And still am. The motto of my book comes readily to mind: “Now that we are brothers and friends…” Ah, life is good!