The War After War
I was at Whole Foods to get ingredients for minestrone soup. Even though the store was busy there were only two lines to check-out. I would have used the self-check option but had a bottle of wine which any cook knows is an essential “ingredient” for minestrone. So, I chose the shortest of the two lines since both of which had customers with full shopping carts. It would be a while.
I was just about to get out my phone so that I too could look busy and task-focused like the others in line but was distracted by an exchange between the customer and cashier two carts ahead. It wasn’t the typical cashier-shopper banter of did you find everything you needed today? To which a shopper usually responds with a perfunctory, Yes thanks. I didn’t catch the details but as the line inched forward, I noticed the cashier didn’t look up at all, not even to hand the next customer his receipt. His hunched shoulders conveyed a heaviness that stood out from the frenetic activity in the store. As items piled up due to the ever-moving conveyer belt, he grasped and scanned them without seeming to register what they were. Maybe he was just that good and had memorized the price of every item in the store. Maybe. But it didn’t seem like it. It seemed like he was somewhere else. It seemed like he had journeyed to the point of exhaustion only to receive news that his effort was for not.
Next in line, I placed the zucchinis, eggplant, can of diced tomatoes, bottle of Syrah and kidney beans on the conveyer belt, pondering if I should say something. Doing so felt potentially invasive. But then again, maybe not. So, instead I settled on the socially accepted catch-all, “how’s it going?”
Without hesitation the cashier said he just had a customer who cursed him for being a Croat. Apparently, the customer, a local and non-Serbian (I asked) felt entitled to share her opinion based on something her *Serbian friend told her.
I assumed he was probably referencing the war between the Croatian’s and the Serbians in the early 1990’s. From the news I remember hearing of tragedies on both sides, but I didn’t recall much more than that, so kept quiet while bagging my groceries.
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“I lost my sister and mother in the war…” the cashier confided, “They made me witness their killing…”
Stopped by the shock of his words I asked, “What were their names?”
Looking up for the first time he answered, “My sisters name was Jaska and my mother’s was Ana”
For an instant we locked eyes. I took the receipt from him and said, “I’m so sorry for your loss and for what you had to go through. Not knowing what else to say I added, “I’ll hold them in my prayers.” He gestured with a nod then turned to greet the next customer in line.
There is a war after war that is not in the news but persists in the heart.
*This story is neither for nor against the people of Croatia nor the people of Serbia. It IS a story about humanity.
The question I had during this encounter was What is needed in this moment? Whether you agree/disagree, like/dislike my question is less important than reflecting on what your question might have been in a similar situation. Because we can learn a lot about ourselves from our questions.
