Yesterday I got a number of electronic-mail and mobile-phone messages from friends in Belgrade to the effect that my father’s name was often mentioned in the media in the context of Vladimir Putin’s visit to the Serbian capital. Namely, he brought a wreath to the Liberators of Belgrade Memorial Cemetery, which was designed by my father. Whence the connection. Many Russians died in the battle for Belgrade in 1945, and most of them were buried at the cemetery in question. At any rate, the connection makes me a bit uneasy. I am quite happy that my father’s architectural prowess is recognized to this day, but the hoopla surrounding Putin’s visit is not exactly to my taste, to put it mildly. Relentless forging of ever-deeper ties with Mother Russia cannot but worry many of Serbia’s neighbors. My father’s name mentioned in this context would only annoy many people in Croatia, where he comes from. Willy-nilly, I thus find myself ensconced in events that are rather repulsive to me. My poor father would feel exactly the same, I am quite sure. Which gives me a dash of comfort, too.