Battling Brexit

by Andrew Anzur Clement

  Europe’s Lost

  Children

  A Tale of the Balkans

  and the European Union

  Battling Brexit

  Andrew Anžur Clement

  Copyright © 2020 Andrew Anzur Clement

  All rights reserved

  Author’s Note

  This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to actual public figures or institutions is not meant to reflect, in any way, their real conduct, character or reputation.

  I won’t sing of the past,

  Or far off battles,

  Because I was born after that,

  And I know what awaits us,

  Yet one hundred more offensives;

  For it is up to us to protect the peace.

  The fate of the future lies within us,

  And perhaps some are frightened of that,

  But I tell you, so you know it well:

  You can count on us.

  -Yugoslav song

  One:

  Beyond the Compound

  Elena

  “Mom? Dad? I’m done!”

  I sit at the dining room table in the main villa of the Elenov winery complex. I’m hunched over the text that just changed my life—the real story of how my parents met. How they kept the Yugoslav wars of the 1990s from being a lot worse. I stare at the red star on the last page, followed by ‘The end’ written in the six different languages of the former Yugoslavia. I can’t help but wonder if all of it really happened.

  Mom hobbles into the room. There are some papers under her remaining arm. She lost her other one and the partial use of her leg while she and my dad were trying to stop the fighting at the start of the Kosovo war. Now I know why she always wears the necklace with the red star pendant. It’s not just a family heirloom, it’s the sign that ordains her as the Maršal of Yugoslavia—the unofficial successor to Maršal Josip Broz Tito, who I now know was my grandfather.

  Mom sits down across from me. The questions tumble from my mouth. “Is all of this true? Did you and Dad really play a secret role in the breakup of Yugoslavia?”

  My mom waits for a second. Another set of feet limps over the manor’s creaky boards into the living room. It’s Dad.

  He leans on the crutch that he always uses. He also got maimed in the Kosovo war, in the same battle my mom did. Mom turns in her chair to where Dad is standing behind her. “She’s finished, Predrag. I think that it’s time we broke the news to her.”

  He nods, taking a seat at the table across from me. I look back and forth between them, feeling like I’m being given another examination from one of the tutors who have been around me all my life and I don’t know the answers. “You mean there’s more? Why wait until now to tell me all this?”

  My mom fingers the documents that she was carrying. “All of it is true, Elena. You are the bearer of Tito’s legacy, the next Maršal of Yugoslavia. We didn’t want to tell you until we were sure that the opportunity would present itself, but we are entrusting you with a very important mission: seeing to it that all of Yugoslavia’s peoples live again in brotherhood and unity.”

  I shake my head. “But Yugoslavia broke up. Isn’t it a bit too late for that?”

  My dad purses his lips. “You were not raised this way, alone, training in this compound, by accident, Elena. We have given you the skills, the training that your mother never had. However, you have yet to learn how complex the international community and multilateral diplomacy can be. This stage of your training—your life—is complete. With Croatia’s entry into the European Union, and your Uncle Hristijan becoming Croatia’s Permanent Representative to the EU, it is time for you to begin the next phase of your education. The time has come for you to leave the compound.”

  I leap to my feet in excitement. The boards creak. Finally, after all seventeen years of my life spent stuck here, it’s happening. “Yes! Bring it on.”

  “Calm down, Elena.” Mom pushes the documents across the table to me. My eyes go wide: enrollment documents for an EU studies program at the Université Libre de Bruxelles. I lift them up. Beneath are Bosnian, Macedonian and Croatian passports. I can hardly believe it. I’m not just being allowed to leave this compound in middle-of-nowhere Macedonia, I’m being sent to the EU’s capital to bring the rest of what was once Yugoslavia into the Union.

  My mom confirms that it’s really happening. “At the end of this summer, you will move to Brussels to live with your uncle in the official residence of the Croatian Permanent Representative to the EU. You will begin training and studying to shepherd all of the remaining republics of Yugoslavia into the European Union.”

  I jump up into the air. The floorboards in the villa creak again as I land.

  “Awesome! When do I leave?”

  My father leans back in his chair. “Slow down, Elena. Your mother just said the end of the summer; we need to take this one step at a time. You have an immense advantage, having spent your life being instructed in combat, world languages and the history of the region. But, for reasons related to your own security, you know little to nothing of life outside this compound, how to behave in the world beyond. Your Uncle Hristijan will arrive tomorrow to prepare you for what you can expect once you move to Brussels.”

  My mom reaches up. She takes the pendant of the two intersecting red stars with the seal of Yugoslavia—the six flames burning together—from her neck. She hands it to me.

  “As of today, I am passing my mantle to you. Congratulations, Maršal Elena Marković of Yugoslavia.”

  I stand in front of the table, holding the symbol meant to mark the next leader of a country that no longer exists—me! You’d think that I would feel more shock, but I don’t. I’m ecstatic, eager at the thought of the challenge that awaits me, even though I don’t know what exactly it is yet.

  My dad looks over at my mom. “Come on, Jovana. Let’s give her a few minutes to take this all in.”

  Both of them stand up and leave the parlor. I don’t need a minute. I turn and run out into the hall, through the old villa’s entrance onto the path under the leafy green trees. They partially block out the setting sun. Rada, the Šar Mountain Dog that I raised since she was a puppy, runs over from where she’s chasing one of the peacocks on the grounds.

  I pet her on the head. It should be about time to bring in the sheep that we keep around so deer don’t eat the vineyard’s grape leaves. We have people to tend the sheep, but I feel like I’ve been shot out of a cannon. I fasten the necklace with the medal around my neck, as if I’m accepting a dare, and run my hand through the thick brownish-black fur on Rada’s back. “Come on, girl, let’s go get the sheep.”

  Both of us run down the tree-covered path, past the cluster of stainless steel wine fermentation vats and the former stables that house my tutors and the guards. I slow down and then walk to the gate that leads to the vineyard. One of the guards puts up a hand.

  I roll my eyes. “Will you relax. Rada and I are just going to bring the sheep into their pen. We won’t leave the vineyard.”

  The guard hesitates. I’ve tried to leave tons of times before.

  “Very well, ma’am.” He opens the creaky gate. Rada and I run out into the fields of grapes that surround the Elenov vineyard and my secret training compound. We savor the glimpse of freedom that is about to be ours. I see the herd of sheep at the end of a row of vines. Rada bolts for them. She listens to my commands. Together we herd the sheep toward their pen. I run right alongside my sheepdog.

  “That will do.” I call off Rada as the last of the sheep enter their pen. I lock the gate. She barks once like sh
e’s saying ‘okay’.

  On a whim, I start to run for the hill that overlooks the vineyard and the town of Demir Kapija. The guards are probably freaked out that we’re going beyond the vineyard, like I told them I wouldn’t. But I’m the new Maršal of Yugoslavia. They can deal with it.

  I reach the hilltop and sit, having barely broken a sweat. The sun sets off to my right, bathing the village and its white stone church in a peach-colored light that makes the town glimmer. I stare out at it with wide eyes like I’ve never seen it before, nestled beneath the hills.

  Something brushes against me. I hear a slight panting. I turn and grab Rada by the jowls. I take her muzzle to my nose. “Can you believe it, Rada?” I say to her, like I always do when I need someone to talk to, who’s not a teacher or a parent. “We’re going to the capital of Europe. This is going to be amazing.”

  Rada backs up a step from me and barks. Then she licks my face. I giggle and I stare back at Demir Kapija. The wind blows some of my unruly long bangs in front of my eyes. I stroke Rada’s coat. The stars begin to come out. I’ve spent all these years waiting, training and preparing. Now I know why. I’m ready for this. Now it’s finally time to make a difference. Brussels, get ready for Maršal Elena Marković.

  ***

  I hear the car pull into the driveway in front of the villa. I try to be nonchalant and keep practicing some of the stealth forms my tutors taught me. He’s finally here: my godfather and uncle, Hristijan. Croatia’s Permanent Whatever to the EU, or whatever long, fancy title he has. I’ve only met him a few times, growing up.

  I wait for my parents to call me over. They don’t. My curiosity gets the better of me. I crouch under the window to the villa’s living room. Rada is next to me. Their voices filter through one of the broken panes in the glass. There is a voice that is somewhat unfamiliar. I assume that it’s Hristijan’s. I think that what he is saying is a load of crap.

  “I’m sorry. I know what we planned but I simply cannot stay here all summer. The Eurozone is still in crisis, the leftists just took power in Greece and the recent EU Parliament elections have seen the highest numbers of anti-integration radical parties in office yet. With David Cameron’s speech on Europe last year and the UK threatening to hold a referendum on membership, it’s hard enough trying to keep the Union together these days. That, and I have to help negotiate the final stages of Kosovo’s Stabilization and Association Agreement for EU membership. I don’t have the time to train someone who you chose to raise here, totally cut off from the outside world, to be one of the region’s greatest diplomats.”

  I hear Mom. “Hristijan, you know what we went through during the nineties. You know how important this is. We owe it to all of the Yugoslav peoples.”

  My dad follows right on Mom’s heels. “You have to make the time. If you did not want to do this at some point, then you wouldn’t have gotten her that Croatian diplomatic passport, through back channels.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hristijan says again. “But I’m needed in Brussels on the Committee of Permanent Representatives to the Council of the European Union. I’ve got to focus my energies there.”

  I raise my eyebrows and think: the what?

  He goes on. “Besides, now is just not the time to bring up the subject of enlarging the Union; the political mood is totally against it.”

  I’d feel my heart sink, except I have the perfect solution. It’s what I really wanted all along. Like I told my dad, I don’t need to wait to go to Brussels.

  I’m about to walk into the villa and tell them that when Rada makes a low growl behind me. I turn to see a girl, maybe about ten years old, peeking around the side of the villa. I recognize her and her wavy blonde hair, though she looks a lot bigger than the last time I saw her.

  I put a hand out to stop my dog from going after her. “Rada, that will do. Erika is a friend, not a danger.” Rada lies down. Erika runs over to me and hugs me.

  She whispers into my ear. “What are you doing, Cousin Elena?”

  “I’m listening in on our parents.”

  She frowns. “It doesn’t sound like my dad is about to stay here even for a while. I liked the last summer I spent here, a few years ago.”

  I shrug. “Try spending your entire life here. You’re the lucky one, getting to grow up in all those world capitals. Brussels must be such an amazing city.”

  Erika puts up one finger by her face and shrugs. I know I’m about to get an earful. “Technically speaking, Brussels is a capital region of nineteen communes, not a city. Only one of them is called Brussels; that’s where we live. If you’re going to move there, you should probably know that kind of stuff. I wish Dad would stay here and teach you.”

  “I know. If I can’t convince him to take me on, I’m never going to get out of this stinking compound.” I kick the dirt.

  My mom’s voice calls through the broken windowpane, “Elena, Erika, you know we can hear you two down there. Could you come inside, please.”

  I cock my head at Erika. “Looks like we’ve been found out. Come on.”

  We walk around to the front of the villa and up the steps. Rada is on our heels. I walk down a hall and then turn to my right, into the parlor. Uncle Hristijan is seated on the couch in a suit with his legs crossed. Instead of a shoe, a prosthetic foot comes out of one of his pants’ legs, from when he stepped on a mine trying to stop the war in Bosnia. He looks almost out of place on the furniture, somehow.

  “Elena, is that you? You’ve grown since four years ago.”

  “I heard you talking. My parents told me that you’re supposed to spend the summer here, to prepare me for leaving the compound before I move to Brussels.”

  He shakes his head. “If you heard me talking, then you know that isn’t in the cards right now.”

  I tell him my plan. “So then, if you can’t come to me, I’ll go to you. The…the um…” I trail off, not sure I remember exactly what it’s called. I walk over to the dining table and pick up the enrollment documents. “The 2014/2015 academic year doesn’t start for another two months. I can already speak French, Dutch and English. I’ll have plenty of time to adapt to city life. Why don’t I just come with you now?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” says Hristijan. “Aside from all the problems in the EU, there are increasing terrorist threats in the city. We don’t know how big yet, but your older cousin, my new counter-terror liaison to the EU’s Intelligence and Situation Center, is already working overtime.”

  This is ridiculous. My temper flares.

  “So what if I’m safe from whatever here? I’m a glorified prisoner. How the hell can I bring the rest of the Balkans into the EU, hidden from everyone in a middle-of-nowhere compound that’s disguised as a vineyard?”

  “Calm down, Elena.” My father puts a hand on my arm. “We’re just going to have to be patient.”

  “Elena, I’m sorry.” Hristijan runs a hand through his hair. “For now, my decision is final. At least it is good to see the progress you are making here.” He turns to my mom. “I can stay for the night, but then Erika and I need to be going.”

  “Aww, dang,” Erika whines beside me. “I wanted to stay here. I wanted Cousin Elena to come live with us in the residence.”

  “I’m sorry, Erika, but like I said to your cousin, this isn’t about what we want,” her father tells her.

  I can’t believe this. I just got told yesterday that I was raised like this to have a life at the center of it all. Now it’s being snatched away from me because the latest guy who’s supposed to tutor me is too busy with whatever bureaucratic crap he was talking about. Erika’s ‘dang’ doesn’t begin to cover it.

  ***

  Hristijan and Erika left yesterday. I’m still pissed off. It’s hard to believe that the stodgy, forty-something-year-old guy who said he couldn’t be bothered to train me right now is the same guy who was on the adventure with my parents in the story I just read about them. I’m almost the age Mom was when all of that happened. Hell, Hristijan
was seventeen, the same age that I am now, and he was just a country bumpkin at the time. What does he think? That I’m not ready for this? I’ll show him. If he won’t take me to Brussels, I’ll make it there myself. Then he won’t be able to turn me away.

  It’s the middle of the night. My passports and enrollment documents are in my jeans’ back pocket. I open one of the windows in my room in the villa—the one that has the empty pane covered with cardboard. I shimmy down the drainpipe. Rada comes over from her doghouse. I put up a finger in front of my mouth. We make for the entrance to the main road that abuts the complex and leads north to Skopje—at least that’s what I’ve seen on maps.

  I see two figures in addition to the guards as we near it: Mom and Dad, like they knew I’d try something.

  “Planning to escape, are we?” my mom asks with a mischievous smile.

  “Well, um, not really. I was just going to…”

  My dad puts up a hand. “It’s all right. We think you need to go. After so many years in the diplomatic service, your uncle could use a little kick in the pants and you are just the person to give it to him.”

  Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “I know my adoptive brother. He really wants you there, in spite of himself. As I said, it is time to pass the banner to you. Good luck, Maršal Marković.”

  She holds out a wad of what I know is money. “You’ll need this. Have a safe trip to Brussels, honey. We know you’ll make us proud.”

  We hug.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  My dad takes the sheathed knife out of his belt. “Here. This is the same bichaq that General Aksentović, my mentor, once gave me. Think of it as a good luck charm.”

  We hug, too. “Thank you, Dad. I’m honored you’d let me have it.”

  Almost before I know it’s happening, Mom waves off the guards who have stood watch over me my entire life. I’m free. Mom gives us a bemused stare for some reason as Rada and I set out on the main road that heads for Skopje and the airport.