My uncle’s terrace was a one-of-a-kind place. It looked like an urban jungle. In addition to the plants that decorated the space, my uncle had a particular passion for sound ambiance. Since the 1980s, he kept canaries in cages so they would sing. He was the conductor every time he appeared on the terrace. Apparently, the hungrier they were, the louder they sang.
The terrace is part of the apartment where he grew up with my father and their parents. My father, who is the youngest, left home and let his older brother take care of their father after their mother’s death. In the end, it was my uncle who inherited the apartment.
The relationship between the two brothers was never good. They even argued over their parents’ grave. Since my father was the one who took care of it, he had responsibility for it at the cemetery as well as ownership. When my uncle found out, he was apparently so angry that he stopped going there to visit them. From then on, he no longer spoke to my father.
I ran into my uncle by chance in 2022, in front of the building where they live. It was also the place where we used to visit my grandfather when I was child. At that time, my uncle was living alone with his daughter; his wife had passed away a few years earlier. We hadn’t seen each other in over 15 years. We were very happy to meet again. I went up to his place to have a coffee with a glass of rakija. It was very pleasant. And then, la piece illuminé, the therrace. I promised him I would come back another day to take a photo, when the sunlight would fall just right into the frame. Promise kept—I returned. He told me I could do whatever I wanted, except take a photo of him. I didn’t ask for anything more.
In October 2024, my uncle passed away in the apartment. His only daughter called my father to tell him the sad news. My father quickly went there to wash his brother’s body and prepare it for the funeral. The canaries sang loudly that day, but I don’t know if they realized that their conductor had fallen silent forever.