There is a narrow alley between Istra Toner’s house and my house on Borgo. Long time ago, when there was a house where my terrace now stands, the alley provided access to that house. Now it leads to the window of my garden cellar. The window is always closed. Part of my property, the alley is completely useless at this stage. Actually, only the film festival crowds use it for about a week each summer. This is where they drink, shit, fuck, eat, take dope, and pee in relative peace. Which is why I have asked Jozo Brandić to build me an iron gate at the entrance to the alley. Istra has agreed to have it attached to the wall of her house, too. Jozo is installing the gate as I write. It is a no-frills affair, just as I wanted it. Armed with a padlock, it will stop the crowds in the future. One small victory for culture in Motovun.

Addendum (September 12, 2012)

My neighbors on Borgo are happy with the gate. One by one, they tell me that they understand my decision very well. All of them suffer through the festival. I just talked to Bepo Radoslav, who lives five houses down the street. As he talked about the last festival, he swore louder and louder. He had called the police several times, he told me, but they would not do a thing. It was a cultural event, after all. He threatened to take things into his own hands, and they told him that their telephone conversation was being recorded. “I would spray them with gasoline and set them ablaze,” Bepo yelled. Seeing that his tirade was likely to go on and on, I wished him goodbye. “You did well,” he waved at me. “You did very well!”