Having cleared my garden from the wild rose for days, this morning I planted three fig trees in it. Benjamin Pahović brought them from his village, Pahovići, which is within sight from my garden, and instructed me how to plant them. “Water them well as soon as you cover the roots with earth,” he told me. “And then water them again a day or two later.” But that would be that. Fig trees are pretty tough. Once they take root, it is difficult to dislodge them. Luckily, they require little care, if any. As I battled the remaining roses and huge mosquitoes that roam the garden in the morning and evening, I kept thinking of my beloved. The fig trees are her wish, and her wish is my command, as she likes to remind me half in jest. I hope the three trees will prosper in my garden. Planted five paces apart from each other and three paces from the outside wall of the garden, they will have plenty of space to grow. And my beloved’s wish should be their command, too.