On my way up Borgo, I hear a loud bang from Renata Vrtarić’s house, which is only a few steps ahead of me. Something must have fallen on the ground floor. When I reach the front door, which is wide open, I look in. Renata appears at that moment and our eyes meet. “Ciao,” she says. I respond in kind, but she pulls away from the door at once and starts yelling from inside her house: “Mistake, mistake, mistake…” I shake my head in confusion and keep walking up Borgo. She stopped greeting me a bit less than a year ago. She had lost her respect for me, she explained at the time.

Addendum I (June 30, 2014)

To cut a long story short, Renata’s “mistake” has to do with money her ex-husband owed me, as well as several other people from Motovun. Following their divorce, he married again, only to die from brain tumor a short while later. I quite loved him, and his demise hurt me a lot. But he left loads of real estate to his children from two previous marriages and his last wife. The children were to cover the outstanding debt, but they behaved as though they had no idea about it. Debt, what debt? And Renata led them in their innocence. When several people in the hilltown, including myself, insisted on the money owed to them, Renata helped the children minimize the loss in her own strange ways. And then she stopped greeting all those involved, including myself once again. Anyhow, it will take me a while to flesh out the story, but it is best left alone at this stage. As far as mistakes go, some are best forgotten.

Addendum II (August 22, 2014)

Renata called me yesterday evening, but I let the mobile phone ring. When the ringing stopped, I sent her a terse message: “Mistake?” She did not reply, it goes without saying. Curiously, her older son, Filip, called me the previous evening. He called twice, and so I called him back, but he did not reply. When I bumped into him on the lower square a while later, he asked me why I had called him. He had no idea his mobile phone was calling me, that is. Although we shook hands, he was rather cold toward me. And this is how his younger sister, Sofia, behaved toward me the last time we met. She was courteous, but that was about all. Both of them live in Zagreb, far from their mother, who spends most of her time in Motovun. But her younger son, Jakov, lives with her. Just like her, he does not greet me in the street any longer. He does not even look at me as he walks past. As far as I am concerned, Renata’s aloofness does not bother me at all, but her children’s remoteness does hurt me quite a bit. We used to be close neighbors. I watched them grow up. More, I was their older friend for an entire decade. But I cannot figure out how their mother has managed to turn them around so thoroughly. Mountains of motherly manipulation, no doubt. Ever since her divorce from their father, and especially after his last marriage, she has guided them her own merry way. And her ex-husband’s friends have turned into her favorite enemies. This applies especially to men. We are all the same, I remember her hissing so many years ago. Egomaniacs one and all.

Addendum III (September 11, 2014)

As I was walking up Borgo yesterday evening, I saw Renata and Sofia walking down the street. When I got closer to them, which was a few steps before they reached their front door, I greeted Sofia: “Ciao.” She remained silent, though. She did not even look at me. And I felt deeply hurt. Sofia was nine or ten when I moved to Motovun. We used to be very close from the start, but her father’s debt changed everything so many years later. All of us to whom money was owed waited a whole year after the funeral to ask the four children for a talk. One of us even arranged a small party with food and drink. The objective was to discuss the best way to cover the debt over some reasonable amount of time. To our surprise, not one of them came to the party. As it transpired a while later, it was Renata who had advised them not to talk to us. And it was she who had dealt with each one of us separately once we engaged a lawyer. In short, she is squarely behind this never-ending misery. One way or another, she is managing to lead her children astray to this day.

Addendum IV (November 12, 2014)

It is time to flesh out this sorry story, which comes back to me whenever I happen to see Renata. To my chagrin, I just saw her in Motovun. She was far away, but seeing her was quite a jolt nonetheless. This time around, I will go through all the gory detail. No matter how reluctant I am to go through all of this, I am eager to put an end to the story once and for all.

In medias res. Ivo Vrtarić died in July 2012. His four children from two previous marriages, of whom the youngest was already nineteen years of age, and his third wife divided his wealth and his debt in January 2013. This was done with the help of lawyers. The children got one house he had left behind, and his third wife got another. In exchange for the third wife’s part of the first house, which was considerably larger, the children agreed to take on all outstanding debts not listed in the document they signed. Renata, Ivo’s second wife, knew of his debt to me, and so I expected to hear from the children soon after the legal decision. They were quite friendly toward me, but none of them ever approached me about the debt. It was only one-thousand and five-hundred euros, but debt is still debt.

Horst Schneider approached me in March 2013. He knew that Ivo owed me some money, and so he wanted to know what I was going to do about it. As it turned out, Ivo owed Horst no less than seven-thousand and five-hundred euros. I told him that I was willing to wait a bit longer to hear from the children. Horst was quite concerned about the money owed him, but he agreed that it was best to wait a bit longer. Both of us hoped the children would come forward pretty soon. Neither of us felt comfortable approaching them first.

Nothing happened, though. I was thus approached by Đino Brajković in June 2013. He told me that he had heard about Ivo’s debt to me, and he wanted to talk about it. Ivo owed him three-thousand and five-hundred euros for some work he had done on one of the two houses. Đino also knew that Ivo owed ten-thousand Croatian kuna to Pino Šegon, who had also done some work on one of Ivo’s houses. This translated into about one-thousand and three-hundred euros at the exchange rate observed at the time. All told, the money owed to the four of us amounted to thirteen-thousand and eight-hundred euros. It was clear the children could not pay it back at once. It would take a few years to clear the debt.

I should add parenthetically that Horst, Đino, Pino, and I used to be Ivo and Renata’s friends and neighbors. Horst and Pino were their neighbors in the lower part of Borgo before the Vrtarić family moved to the upper part of the street, where I moved after their move. Đino and his family live on the other side of the lower square. One way or another, it is impossible not to bump into one another in Motovun that boasts of no more than three-hundred permanent inhabitants. In addition, both Đino and Pino are builders, and so they have done many things for Ivo over the years. Put simply, the only bind between us all had always been trust and nothing but trust.

Returning to the story, the four of us met a few times in July 2013 to discuss our options given that Ivo’s children remained aloof. There was not a peep about debt from any of them. In the end, we agreed that the best thing to do would be to talk to them. As it happened, all four of them were in Motovun for the summer, and so Horst suggested that we should invite them to a small party at his place. We agreed. There would be food and wine to make it easier for us all, for we were rather weary of any confrontation, let alone one that was about money. The party took place in August 2013 more than a year after Ivo’s death. Horst invited all the children individually. When the four of us to whom money was owed assembled, we realized quickly enough that the children would not show up. Indeed, none of them came to the party. Even more, none of them called to excuse themselves.

There was much anger at this point. It was agreed by the end of the botched-up party that the only way forward was to get a lawyer. Horst and I knew two different lawyers, and we agreed to get in touch with them both as soon as possible. As luck would have it, my lawyer responded first. He readily agreed to represent us, and we met with him soon afterwards. Within days, he sent a letter concerning the outstanding debt to the four children. The letter demanded a quick response. It also threatened court action. Unexpectedly, Renata contacted me a few days afterwards. She was indignant about the letter. The children had no money, she argued. There was no way they could pay the debt. I did my best to explain that all we wanted was to agree on when the money owed to us would be returned, but she was hardly listening to me.

As I learned a few days later, Renata first went to Đino and Pino to negotiate. She approached them individually. She explained to each of them that they had done all the work for Ivo without a proper contract and that they would stand little chance in court. She thus offered each of them half of the amount owed. Surprised by the legalistic approach, each of them accepted the deal. And so Renata got in touch with me and asked me to stop my lawyer from any further action given that Đino and Pino had already agreed to be paid only a half of the money owed them. In return, she offered to pay me in full. Having consulted with all the others, I got in touch with my lawyer. The threat of court action was retracted. After some delay, Renata paid me out in full, as she promised she would.

A few days after I got the money, Renata asked me to return half of it. She explained that, just like Đino and Pino, I did not have any legally binding proof of Ivo’s debt. The paper that he had signed for me on his own initiative would not carry any weight in court, she argued. Even though I was surprised by her legalistic attitude one more time, I refused to give her anything. She threatened to take me to court over it, but she never did. My lawyer explained to me that she would have no chance in court, either. At any rate, the whole story had turned much nastier than any of us had expected.

Horst’s debt was the last to be settled. Renata offered him five-thousand euros over three years, and he accepted. He admitted later on that he had felt foolish about the deal that robbed him of two-thousand and five hundred euros, but he had only wished to avoid any further confrontation with Renata. In short, she saved the children some four-thousand nine-hundred euros by negotiating with everyone individually and by insisting on mere legalities as though we were not old friends and neighbors living in a small town where all good things are ultimately based on trust.

Even though all of Ivo’s debts were incurred in the best of faith, Renata’s legalistic approach paid off in the end, at least in money terms. To add insult to injury, Renata stopped greeting the four of us in the street. We deserved none of her respect, she explained. In the end, I was the only one of the four people who was paid out in full. Which explains Renata’s special ire in my own case. In her eyes, I am the greatest villain in the story. Be that as it may, here it is in full at long last. The only conclusion I can make from all of the above is that I will never again loan any money to a friend. There is no better way to lose friends. And especially when their spouses and children get involved.

Addendum V (December 5, 2014)

The rift with Renata Vrtarić and her children confused me at first. I could not believe that good neighbors could be driven so far apart so fast. Then it hurt me quite a bit. Even though I was not hurt by Renata’s aloofness, that of Filip, Jakov, and Sofia was quite painful for me. And I got angry in the end. It was only money that divided us, for crying out loud. All it would take was a little appreciation of the money involved on Renata’s part, and everything would have been fine. As of late, Renata’s purported loss of respect for me ricochets through my mind surprisingly often. I cannot care less about respect, for it is a notion entirely foreign to me, but I understand what it means in these parts. Croatia is a rural country, after all. Whenever I hear the word used in whatever context, I remember Renata. And I am flabbergasted once again by her words. A woman like her losing respect for a man like me… Amazing! There must be an Aesop’s fable about a fly losing respect for an eagle, I bet.

Addendum VI (December 19, 2014)

I did my best to find an appropriate fable by Aesop, but without any success. Well, he should have come up with just such a fable as befits my ordeal with my neighbor. The best I can come up with by way of a belated conclusion is a Latin proverb of great renown: Aquila non captat muscas. Quantum sufficit.