“How about we get something to drink? We’ll be freezing our asses off out there.” Mile was the company joker, the oldest of the conscripts. He was a farmer in his early forties, stocky, with a crooked nose. Pap had apparently selected his policemen according to their size and strength.
“No way, man,” Johnny said. “Someone has to keep his head clear. People are really bored now and that’s dangerous.”
“All right, boss,” said Mile. “You city folks don’t know how to enjoy life. If I were commanding this patrol, we would be sitting next to a furnace, I can tell you that. With women in our laps and drinks in our hands.”
Johnny did not respond. This was indeed a shitty job, but at least it was useful. Many of his fellow soldiers were not at all happy about those Croatian houses being ransacked by the Lions. He had no doubt that if the tension got too bad they would bring weapons into it, and he knew who would be the first to use them.
The temperature was dropping, and the sound of their steps on the snow-covered streets was changing from croaks to cracks. Wood smoke rose straight from the chimneys. The other patrol was supposed to visit all five local joints, and Johnny and his men were to make sure that the streets were safe. Five watering holes in such a small place.
They came to an intersection and—since the main street was lit well enough to see that it was empty—Johnny turned right onto the side street and his companions followed. In the window of a butcher store on the corner was a handwritten note regarding services at the Catholic church in the next village, which meant the owners were Croats.
Muffled voices came from television sets behind the closed windows and drawn curtains. This street also looked deserted. When they had walked down half of it, Johnny stopped.
“The only place this leads is to the fields. Let’s go back.”
“Sure, boss,” Mile said loudly. Looking over Johnny’s shoulder, he added, quietly, “There’s someone at the end of the street.”
Johnny turned and squinted. He saw it now: an illogical shadow at the end of the left row of houses. Among parallel lines—windows, facades, fences, doors—it was rounded enough to be a person. A person trying to remain invisible.
“Against the wall,” hissed Johnny, and in a few steps all three of them were pressed against the closest house on the same side of the street as the shadow. “Arms ready,” Johnny said, pulling out his semi-automatic pistol and sneaking ahead.
One of the wooden fences between them and the shadow was broken in the middle. It leaned towards the street, making the silhouette invisible. Poking his head around, Johnny was startled when a small flame burst from the direction of their target, maybe twenty yards away. For a moment, Johnny expected to hear a shot, and then he realized the man was lighting a cigarette.
“Don’t move,” Johnny called, surprising himself by the flatness of his voice. “Who are you?”
For a few seconds there was no answer. The man held the match flame close to his face long enough for Johnny to recognize the Lion they called the Boxer. Except for his broken nose, skinny little Boxer didn’t fit the description. He was probably a small-time crook here for what he could pillage. The matchstick burned his fingers. He cursed in a muffled voice, dropping it.
“Why the fuck are you sneaking up?” he said to Johnny as he blew on his fingers.
“What are you doing here?” Johnny asked, his two comrades at his side. The Boxer noticed the guns.
“Hey, put the guns away—are you insane? We’re on the same side, idiots.”
The two other men holstered their weapons but Johnny just lowered his pistol.
“So, why are you here, Boxer?”
“What do you care?” He noticed the white belts on their uniforms. “Oh, right. The cops. I’m scared shitless.”
“Are you standing guard?”
“You’re crazy.”
Johnny craned to look behind him through a narrow side gate to the last house in the row. It was dark. No other house in the village was dark this early.
“Step aside,” Johnny said.
“What, you’re going to rob the Croats now? Better do it in daylight so you can see what they’re hiding.”
“How do you know they’re Croats?” Johnny raised his gun again. “Step aside!”
The man obliged.
“Mile, stay here and make sure he doesn’t make a sound.”
“No problem, boss.”
“What, this peasant will stop me?” The Boxer frowned.
Mile raised his left fist from the hip and decked the Lion, who almost lost his footing. “If you want, I can nail you to the gate so you won’t slip again,” Mile said.
“Goran, come with me.” Johnny pushed the gate open, the wood scraping on the ice below. At the corner of the house, he waved Goran ahead to check one side. The man sneaked to the window on the ground floor and carefully looked inside. Then he crept along to a small basement window out of which a faint light shone, and knelt to look in. After a moment, he gestured to Johnny to come.
Over Goran’s shoulder, Johnny saw a young woman on the edge of a bed, naked. A man was holding her legs on his shoulders, raping her. His moves were merciless. Two men sat next to them, watching. One of them, with a black bandana, held a gun in the girl’s mouth. The other one had unbuttoned his black uniform pants, waiting his turn. There was no sound, just the faces: the insanity on the face of the rapist, the grinning of the two other men, the numb stare on the girl’s face.
Johnny touched Goran’s shoulder. They got up and moved quickly towards the corner of the house. Clear. They came to the side entrance and Goran carefully pressed the latch. It was open. He stood for a few seconds, listening, and then entered. Johnny went in after him and saw the stairs leading to the basement. He motioned for Goran to check the rest of the house, and he went downstairs.
At the bottom was a short corridor with two doors, both closed. He leaned his ear against one of them and heard the slapping of skin against skin. Slowly, he pressed the handle and pushed a little. The hinges were silent. He raised his gun to eye level, and hit the door with his boot. It banged against something and he yelled, “Don’t move!”
Nothing much happened. The gun was still inside the girl’s mouth and Johnny did not really know what to do next.
“Hey, look,” said the Lion holding the gun. “It’s the soldier with the ponytail. Hey, bro, is that tail too high or are you really shitting from your brain?”
The other two laughed.
“Some people really have no manners. Who taught you to interrupt people when they are having sex?” the rapist said.
Johnny did not like the grin on his face.
“Leave the girl,” Johnny said, aiming straight at his head. “You are all under arrest.”
“I think he’s serious,” said the first Lion, not moving the gun.
“Yup. See the sweat?” the unbuttoned Lion said.
Johnny felt the drops gathering on his forehead. “I’ll shoot if I have to,” he said.
“Hey, shithead, what better death than to die fucking? Watch me and jerk, moron.” The rapist made a forceful thrust with his hips. The girl moaned. “You see? She’s enjoying it. Croatian pussies like it rough.” He continued to move inside her. “Tell him, bro, while I fill her up, tell him what we discovered.”
“This little whore has a brother but he’s not at home,” the unbuttoned Lion said. “Their parents couldn’t tell us where he was, so we came down here to ask her. We think he’s with the Croatian throat cutters. So we decided to make her a small Serb, to spread the love. You should stick it in, too, if you’re a man. She won’t tell anyone.”
A door slammed on the upper floor and feet padded down the stairs. Goran appeared behind Johnny.
“Her parents are upstairs. Beaten unconscious and tied up,” he said to Johnny. “You pricks have a problem. Get that gun out of her mouth and step aside.”
The rapist grinned at him. “The gun is staying. As is my dick.”
Gor
an crossed the room in two steps and hit the rapist so hard that he was out before he landed on the one holding the gun, knocking him to the floor. The unbuttoned Lion went for Goran, who did something with his hands, spun him around, and threw him on the floor. A gun went off. The Lion with the bandana had pulled himself out from under his friend and was now trying for a better angle on Goran. Johnny fired. The man dropped his gun and clutched at his biceps. Blood flowed through his fingers and he moaned.
“Did he get you?” Johnny asked.
Goran shook his head as he helped the girl sit up.
Johnny pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. She was shivering now, but still silent.
“Take her upstairs. Tell Mile to bring the Boxer here. We’ll tie them all up. Find a phone and call Pap to send more men.”
Goran gave the girl his shoulder to lean on. Johnny flicked on the light and picked up the weapons. He found a table lamp with a long cord, yanked it out, and began tying up the Lions.
It was several hours before the whole mess was over. The wounded Lion was only scratched, it turned out. Just before Johnny left headquarters, the Candyman turned up from somewhere, furious, and locked himself up with Pap. The prisoners were soon taken out, handcuffed, and put in one of the Candyman’s trucks. Then the truck and two Jeeps roared off into the night. By that point the whole village had heard the news and there wasn’t a single house whose windows were completely dark at one in the morning.
The storeroom at Mira’s house was empty when Johnny got back. He was grateful that the other conscripts were on guard duty—he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He lay down in the dark, in his uniform, and tried not to think.
When he woke up it was still dark and he could hear snoring around him. He got up and stepped over the sleeping soldiers, trying not to wake them. The house was silent. At the back door, he put his boots back on and went outside. The village was lit only by the moon and the houses around him looked like containers waiting for their ship. He leaned against the wall. It took him a few moments to notice a small orange dot to his right. The dot went higher and intensified. He recognized the lips and the nose.
“Want some?” Mira whispered.
He smelled the pot in the air and extended his hand. Their fingers touched as she passed the joint. He inhaled a couple of times, covering the glow with his hand, and offered it back to her.
“Finish it,” she said. “I’m fine.”
His eyes had became accustomed to the darkness and he glanced sideways at her. She was sitting on a bench along the wall, her legs outstretched, her face lifted towards the starry sky. He sat next to her. The pot started working. It was not a downer, apparently, but it did not lift him up either. He felt heavier and his shoulders fell a little. He took the last drag, burning his fingers, and then extinguished the roach in the snow.
“That girl, tonight. She’s a friend of mine,” she said.
Her head moved towards his shoulder so slowly that he was not sure if she had fallen asleep or just wanted to lean on him. Then he felt her tongue on his neck. He let her slide it towards his ear and when she bit him gently, he turned to her, took her face with his hand, and opened her lips with his tongue. It was a slow, deep kiss. He felt oddly surprised by the slowness, as if the war had dictated urgency and despair and they were doing this the wrong way. He felt her hand on his crotch and helped her unbutton his pants. It was easy for her fingers to find their way through his military underwear, with no buttons and a long slit in front. He briefly felt cold on his dick as she pulled it out. Then a warm palm protected him, and she lowered her head and took him into her mouth. As he leaned his head against the wall, his last distinguishable thought was that he was alive.
LIKE LOVE. December 23, 1992
“I think it’s better if I relieve the three of you from patrol right now,” Pap said. “The Candyman isn’t happy and neither are his people. Frankly, I think he feels humiliated. I wouldn’t want to be in the skin of those monkeys that you arrested. Not because of what they did, but because they allowed themselves to be arrested by reservists.”
Johnny remained silent. Pap and he were alone in the office of the orange house.
“Until the dust settles, you can stand guard on the outskirts of the village and sleep in the outpost with a few other soldiers just in case. You do understand it’s for your safety?”
Johnny nodded.
Pap sighed. “I would recommend you for some sort of honour but you don’t want people to know you’re here. That’s fine—we don’t want them to know we’re here either. Later we can reward you for something done on Serbian territory. The catch is that it must be made public and then you become a symbol for the media. Is that okay with you? You’re an idol to the kids anyway, why not add to it?”
Johnny lowered his head. “There’s nothing I need to be rewarded for,” he said. “They were torturing that girl. They would probably have killed her in the end. And Goran deserves the reward more than I do.”
Pap nodded. “Very good answer. Okay then, Goran it will be. You’re free to go.”
Johnny turned to leave, then said, “Captain?”
“Yes?”
“It’s not the uniform. It’s not war. It’s this particular war. I can’t tell my fans that any of this is okay.”
Pap did not answer.
The streets were deserted. It was quarter to eleven. What do people do in a place like this? No public library, no bowling alley, no shopping area, only local joints. Some of them had television sets but they played the news all the time, and all the news was as ugly as usual, more than usual.
Johnny decided to go back to the small place where he had met Eyebrows and Tablecloth Shirt. There was nobody in the restaurant when he entered. The serious woman brought his coffee, a piece of bread, and several boiled eggs on a platter. She put them on the table and went back behind the bar without a word. He saw some old magazines on the shelf under the TV, got up and picked a few to flip through. Bill Clinton, New American President. The gun in the hairy hand, the absolute horror of helplessness on the girl’s face. Her lips around the steel. The Federal Assembly of Czechoslovakia had voted to split the country in two: Couldn’t we have an amicable divorce, too? He raised his head, stared through the window at the deserted, ice-covered street. The girl will be fine. Time heals everything. No—time is only a reef that slows down the waves of memories. The girl will be fine. She has to be fine. The only thing that pleased him was the aggression afterwards—Goran’s moves, the blood, the tight, tight cord around the men’s hands. Kicking them before the backup arrived. Yes, kicking them in the sides, in the knees, pistol-whipping the one who shot at Goran. He did that. And Mile let him go on longer than needed, dangerously long, before pulling him away and calming him down.
Mira had been in the back of his mind since he woke up. He was not sure of the way she was present in him. He knew how she wasn’t. Not as love—but not as a notch, either. He had never hidden anything from Sara. She knew how rock tours operate, and told him that she did not want to hear any details from him. And, she said, if she ever heard details about him, that would mean the end. But Johnny loved her and there had been nothing to hide until now. Until now? Had he already decided to hide it? He was surprised by how some autonomous male centre in his brain had retreated into defensive mode. Mira had not chosen him last night. The night had chosen him. The ugliness, the horror. And for those same reasons, he let it happen.
Half an hour later, he was in Mira’s house. She was out, so he went to the storage room, took his shaving kit from his backpack, and headed for the bathroom. Another soldier came out as he was approaching.
“Johnny,” he said. “We’re standing guard tonight. I have it written down somewhere who goes where, but I think you’re in the woods. Get some sleep.”
Johnny took a long shower. When he finished he found Mira in the living room. She was reading one of the German magazines, a coffee cup in fr
ont of her.
She asked, “Are you hungry?” Her face showed no emotion, but her question made him blink. It was so simple, so basic, yet nobody had asked him for such a long time.
“I’ve already eaten,” he said.
“You didn’t have to—we’re supposed to feed you.”
He sat next to her. “Are you okay?”
“You mean about last night? Are you?” Her look pierced him.
“I have a girlfriend back in Belgrade. I never—”
“Neither have I,” she said. “I have a boyfriend in Munich. So if you ever have a gig there, be careful what you say between songs.”
Their eyes locked, longer than he had planned. Hers were serious, and blue, and just a tad shinier than normal. He hugged her.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
She smiled at him. “Maybe we didn’t waste our money after all.”
“Seriously,” Johnny said, letting go. “Thanks.”
Before she could say anything more, her father entered.
“I hear you’re on guard tonight,” he said. “We’ll keep it quiet around here so you can get some sleep.”
Around seven, Mira’s father woke the four of them up. They had dinner with the family, and then they picked up their guns and went to the orange house, where a sergeant gave them instructions. It was a little after eight when they took over for their four-hour shift.
Johnny did not like his position but there was nothing he could do about it. The forest started some three hundred yards from the last house to the south, unfolding by the side of the local road. It wasn’t large, probably a few hundred yards in diameter, but there were also small patches of trees farther south and west. If someone wanted to enter the village unnoticed, this was the best way.
The wind created enough of a murmur in the trees to keep him on his toes, but there were also small animal sounds, birds, voices drifting from the village, music and laughter…. How would he be able to detect steps approaching in the night? After half an hour, he was able to distinguish the sounds better, but every now and then he heard a strange noise that more often than not sounded like a cautious footfall.
Diary of Interrupted Days Page 9
