Joe looks into Nelly’s eyes, seeing the fire and sorrow of generations past. He takes her hand, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
“They will always judge us, Nelly. In their kangaroo courts. Because we love our homeland. Because we believe in something greater than their paper empires and their plastic gods.”
Nelly nods, her heart heavy but her spirit unbroken. “They fear what they can’t control,” she says. “They label love as madness, faith as delusion.”
Joe smiles sadly. “Best said in Miroslav Škoro’s song Sude Mi,” he whispers, humming the tune. The lyrics cut through the silence, a hymn of defiance against those who try to strip them of their heritage, their pride, their love.
He pulls her close, resting his forehead against hers. “Let them judge, Nelly. The only judgment that matters is from the One above.”
And in that moment, they are unshaken. Together.
A Conversation About Sude Mi
(Joe and Nelly sit across from each other in a quiet café. A Croatian folk song plays softly in the background. Joe pulls out his phone and plays Miroslav Škoro’s Sude Mi. The haunting melody fills the space. Joe’s eyes darken as he listens.)
Joe:
“Sude mi.” They judge me. My own blood gave me up. My brothers handed me over to the government like I was nothing.
(He pauses, watching Nelly’s reaction. She stays quiet, listening.)
Joe:
You hear the lyrics? “Vitez piše pismo svojoj vjernoj ljubavi.” The knight writes letters to his true love. Maybe that’s you, Nelly. Maybe you’re the only one who never turned on me.
Nelly: (softly, but firmly)
I don’t judge you, Joe. I never have.
(Joe looks at her, searching for doubt, but finds none.)
Nelly:
You say your brothers betrayed you. Maybe they didn’t understand. Maybe they were scared. But me? I don’t scare easy.
(She reaches across the table, placing her hand over his.)
Nelly:
Love—real love—is unconditional. That’s what I feel for you. Not the kind that wavers when things get tough, not the kind that disappears when the world turns its back on you. The kind that stays.
(Joe exhales, looking down. A moment of silence.)
Joe:
Then why do I still feel alone?
Nelly: (smiles sadly)
Because you haven’t let yourself believe it yet.
(The song continues to play. Joe closes his eyes, letting the words sink in. Maybe, just maybe, he’s not as alone as he thought.)
Pope Pius XIII on Sude Mi and the Croats’ Transformation
(The Young Pope, Pius XIII, stands before an audience in the Vatican, addressing Joe Jukic. His piercing gaze cuts through the room, his words slow and deliberate.)
Pope Pius XIII:
When Sude Mi was first sung, the Croats wept. It was a song of sorrow, of betrayal, of a knight cast out by his own people. They cried because they knew what it meant to be judged, to be abandoned, to be alone.
But now? Twenty years later, they no longer cry. They stand tall, filled with pride and joy. Do you know why, Joe?
(Joe remains silent, listening intently.)
Because justice has been done. Because you—you—prosecuted George W. Bush, the so-called leader of the free world.
Ah yes, Bush… the man who, in a backwards, satanic way, took away the sins of the world by consuming them. A false messiah of war and destruction. He did not suffer for mankind—mankind suffered for him. He bore no cross, yet nations were crucified in his name.
(The Pope takes a step forward, his voice growing more intense.)
You turned the trial against him, exposed his sins. And in doing so, you redeemed the betrayed. The Croats no longer cry because they see now—Sude Mi was never just about sorrow. It was about vindication. About reclaiming honor.
And you, Joe Jukic, are that knight.
(Silence falls. The weight of his words lingers in the air. Joe lowers his head, contemplating the gravity of his journey. Outside, church bells ring—perhaps a sign from above.)