The thing is about rumors: all you need is the vaguest and most oblique insinuation of something for it to begin passing along great unseen chains of whispers and embellishments until everyone directly interested and indirectly uninterested - and some people quite frankly exasperated - suddenly knows. It passes into common knowledge. And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the best rumors are then apotheosized into the greatest of all possible forms of human knowledge.
They become the TRUTH.
Belgrade is not such a small city, demographically speaking. But in real terms it is approximately the size of goldfish bowl. Why I said this is going to be tricky is because the mere idea of writing about rumors (even about "rumors" as a plural noun and at all about any specific rumor) implies that there is some juicy tidbit lurking in the back of the writer's mind causing him to think about writing about rumors. A hidden truth is implied.
And it is positively untrue that I am doing PR for the Queen of England.
Rumors are generally born of speculation. Somewhere in the deep background there is probably some actual fact - a guy stumbles upon some small fraction of information which led him to wonder and guess about its origin, background, and meaning. Then, unable to find any other supporting facts, the guy tells another guy: "I bet that means that...." And the guy who receives this speculation passes it on like this: "I heard that...." And then rumoristic truths are born.
Rumoristic is not a word.
In the time I have been living here, which is rapidly becoming immense, I have heard hundreds of these Truth Rumors. I have been the subject of one or two (at least of which I am aware) and have probably started a few dozen as well. Unintentionally, of course. All it takes is a bit of idle talk at the water-cooler or a stray thought given voice at a cocktail party and suddenly the rumor takes on a life force which is as vigorous as a garden weed.
Coupled with the fascination people have about spreading rumors all over the world, there is another element which makes rumoring in the White City much more pernicious: the urge to report. Many is the time where I have met someone on the street, or in a shop, or anywhere, and just as I have turned to leave, the person's mobile phone has been activated. He must now report: "Hey, I just saw Chris. He was wearing something green. He seemed in a hurry." The reporter sends his report and, at times, this report is reported further along the chain (altered a little as these things happen) until, by the time I arrive back in the office, the report is fed to me as Information.
"I heard you looked green and were in a hurry to throw up..."
Now, let it be said that the reason for this blog is only because I did indeed hear an interesting and patently untrue rumor recently. It is all the more interesting because it seems that it is connected with a person or persons unknown whom I may or may not know and I have understood the details may be products of a lively imagination. Or not.
But I resist the urge to report.