I just read in one of the leading Croatian newspapers that Marija Crnobori had died in Belgrade at the ripe age of ninety-seven. An actress of great renown in former Yugoslavia, she was a good friend of my parents. Like them, she came from Istria. I still remember her quite distinctly. As a youngster, I found her beautiful. The last time I saw her was in front of my parents’ apartment building on Kosovska Street in Belgrade. If I remember correctly, I was returning home with my mother, they bumped into each other by chance, and they started talking at once. I must have been in my twenties, but I still found her beautiful. She was in her fifties at the time. There was something mesmerizing about her, to be sure. Years later, I met her sister Vera, who owned a house in Motovun. She died five years ago, as well. All these connections came through Josip Crnobori, a Croatian painter of renown who was my parents’ close friend in Zagreb. I do not remember how Marija and Josip were related, but they were close relatives. Anyhow, another friend of my parents is gone. Every time I come across news of this sort, I feel their death once again. And so they keep dying and dying…