by Laura Aslan
Kupi looked at his watch.
“Ten minutes,” he said.
Sure enough in ten minutes time there was more movement from the hallway and two of the guards walked into the apartment. Kupi threw me some car keys.
“Can you drive?” he said.
I nodded.
“Good. I’ll tell you where to go once we get to the car.”
The thought of escape was never far from my thoughts as we made our way down the stairs and into the street. I was immediately on the lookout for a policeman or a UN peacekeeper. I told myself I would take off and run to them. As if reading my mind Kupi spoke.
“Don’t try anything stupid, we are all armed and one of us will shoot you dead on the spot.”
As if to make a point he pulled his coat open to reveal the handle and stock of some sort of automatic machine gun that was small enough to be hidden in a large pocket that had been specially stitched in. But still I looked hard at the pavements and the road praying that someone with a blue beret would somehow appear from nowhere. Despite the threat I was ready to take a chance. I prayed that my will to escape was stronger than their desire to kill me.
One of Kupi’s guards opened the driver’s door and I climbed in and started the car. I couldn’t help feeling that I had been somehow transported back to normality. I’d always loved driving and despite everything that had happened and what Kupi had said about selling me I genuinely enjoyed pushing the car into gear and pressing the accelerator to the floor and for a few delicious seconds I was free.
Kupi sat in the passenger seat and unbuttoned his coat so that I was always aware of the presence of his gun. The usual wise cracks came from the guards about female drivers as they joked about reverse parking. Kupi laughed each time and appeared to be quite relaxed. He told me to take the E80 out of the city and head towards Maxhunaj. The traffic was light and there was no sign of any NATO troops on the ground. I prayed under my breath that I would see a roadblock heavily policed. It was my only chance of escape, perhaps I could crash into it before Kupi and his gang could do anything about it and by the time they realised what was happening, armed police and soldiers would surround the vehicle. It was easy enough to plan the scenario in my head but I wondered if I could carry it out when it mattered.
But there were no roadblocks and no soldiers. Kupi had planned the route well. We passed through Vushtrii and we drove another few kilometres then Kupi told me to turn to the left.
We followed a minor road for no more than half a mile and then looming up ahead was a large stone and wood building that turned out to be a restaurant specialising in pizzas. I pulled into the neat car park and we all got out. Kupi hadn’t been lying, it did look as if we were going for lunch and I wondered if this was my opportunity to escape. Lunchtime meant there were many vehicles in the car park and I dared to hope that there would be some hungry police officers or soldiers who just happened to have decided to eat there too.
But I would be disappointed. The restaurant was full of men but not one of them wore a uniform. There were no women or girls, except for the waitresses who served the food and what was more alarming was that everyone seemed to know Azem Kupi and his gang. As we made our way to a pre-booked table on the far side of the restaurant, they greeted and acknowledged him, one or two even stood and offered a handshake. My hopes were dashed in an instant, this was Kupi’s patch, his den, his lair, somewhere he felt safe and at home. It was exactly why he’d chosen to come here.
And so we ate pizza, delicious pizza and for a short period of time my life took on an air of normality as we sat in a restaurant (albeit surrounded by Kupi’s men) while waitresses passed pleasantries and brought us drinks and food.
But business was also on the agenda as towards the end of the meal another two men joined us. They appeared to be interested in me and one of them took a photograph with a small camera while Kupi kept looking at me much in the same way a proud father would look at his daughter. One of the men mentioned a doctor and a test and Kupi said they would not be disappointed.
Driving home I realised it all made perfect sense. He’d took me there to conclude the final piece of the transaction, to have proof that I truly existed and I knew exactly why they’d mentioned a doctor. This was more than common in Muslim society particularly the richer families of potential husbands to be. They had been talking about a virginity test.
The drive home was nothing more than a blur as everything fell into place and I realised that Kupi’s outburst in the apartment was not a veiled threat but something that had been discussed, planned, brokered and implemented. I took the opportunity to look at Kupi on the drive home as he sat in the passenger seat. He looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked like the cat that had just been handed the plate of cream.
As we drove into Pristina I didn’t even bother to look for a policemen or a soldier. I was in despair, almost broken. By way of a celebration Kupi took Lule into our bedroom again and they had sex. Needless to say I was made to watch their depravity yet again. Lule asked me time and time again to join in the fun but for some reason Kupi didn’t. I took that to mean one thing. That he didn’t want to be tempted into damaging the goods.
Dining with the Devils
There was yet another rape in the apartment two days later. It wasn’t quite so brutal as the earlier assault, the girl was much younger and she yielded far easier as she froze in fear and allowed Rexha to do as he wished. She resisted at first but almost from the outset she could see that the odds were stacked against her with three more guards on standby as well as Kupi who all looked on. For a reason I couldn’t understand, I was made to watch again but spent most of the time studying the evil reactions of Lule who oversaw proceedings with a real venomous pleasure and at one point even helped Rexha remove the girls skirt. I remember the girl looking at her in disbelief. It was as if she could somehow comprehend the animalistic behaviour of the fat man abusing her but not from the gentler sex. The girl lay on her back like a piece of cold meat while Rexha stripped off and climbed onto her. It was almost as if she’d resigned herself to her fate and although I could see in her face that she was terrified I admired her composure to a certain extent, it was almost as if she was saying let’s get this over with.
Mercifully for the girl, Rexha didn’t last long and he soon climbed off her. They threw her clothes at her and one of the guards bundled her towards the front door aggressively. There was a little commotion and some shouting at the door and I was aware of at least two or three blows and a squeal and some sobbing but the guard was back within a minute or two and I breathed a sigh of relief that her punishment had obviously been concluded and that she’d survived the experience. Even from the outset, from my first encounter with them I sensed that these men were more than capable of killing and that life was cheap to them.
Kupi stood and buttoned up his jacket.
“Okay you,” he said looking at me, “get your coat we’re going out.”
This time I sat in the back of the car with two guards either side of me. Kupi sat in the passenger seat alongside the driver and I could see he was a little agitated, deep in thought while we once again drove beyond the city limits. I tried to take my bearings and carefully studied the road signs just in the off chance I somehow managed to get away. We headed to the west but didn’t drive too far before Kupi turned round and announced it was lunchtime and that he was so hungry he could eat a bear.
The restaurant had been well chosen once again, well off the beaten track and somewhat more salubrious than the pizza restaurant. The waiters wore black bow ties and jackets and once again, to my dismay, everyone seemed to know Kupi and his gang. There was an overpowering stench of fish, really strong fish and it began to turn my stomach it was so bad. There were live crabs and lobsters in tanks and Kupi stood and studied one of them pointing to a large crustacean and passing comment to one of the wa
iters. We sat down and Kupi ordered some sort of special fish dish for the table. The waiter nodded in an approving manner and returned with some wine. I got the impression that Kupi was pushing the boat out, either trying to impress people or celebrating in some way.
Twenty minutes later there was a little movement by the door and Kupi stood. Some of the other diners also looked cautiously towards the door and two men walked over in the direction of our table. Kupi embraced them warmly while the other guards shook their hands. I had never seen them before. Kupi introduced them to me and I had no choice but to greet them. I expected a kiss from them that was the normal way a man greeted a female friend but the first man just shook my hand while the other gave me no more than a cursory nod.
The special arrived soon after, a huge pot of steaming fish casserole with potatoes and other vegetables and rice. The waiters brought more wine and of course plenty of bread and the men all tucked in as if they’d starved themselves for a month. It looked pleasant enough but the smell was overpowering and after what I had witnessed yet again in Kupi’s apartment I had no appetite whatsoever. I recall watching Kupi eat like a hungry pig, and Rexha too, as if the morning’s events had never taken place. They laughed and joked and gorged themselves. These men had no compassion, as if they had somehow separated the evil and wickedness from the normality of sharing a meal with friends, an optical delusion of their consciousness. The poor girl and what they’d put her through hadn’t even crossed their minds as they fed their fat bloated faces and within fifteen minutes the huge pot that graced the table was completely empty. What Pigs, I thought as my stomach turned in disgust.
Kupi and the two strangers (I never caught their names) excused themselves and walked off in the direction of the toilets. They were away some time. When they returned Kupi ordered some fruit and some cheese and more bread and they gorged themselves some more.
I’d never seen men eat that way, not even during the huge celebrations after Ramadan where men had gone hungry for many days. And then they were away again, off to the toilets and I realised they were talking about a business that they did not want to share with me or the people in the restaurant. They brought more wine and then some brandy and by the time we all prepared to leave I realised that everyone was quite drunk and I wondered if this was perhaps my chance to take advantage of them. I looked over the table at Kupi who was staring at me and shaking his head and at that moment I was convinced that the man could actually read my mind.
We said our farewells to the strangers but I got the distinct feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time I would see them.
As we left the restaurant the driver signalled to the right and I realised we were heading away from Pristina.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “This isn’t the way back to the apartment.”
Kupi turned around.
“We’re going to Pejë,” he said. “We’re staying the night there.”
“Why?” I asked.
Kupi looked at Rexha and the other guard sitting next to me and even though it was quite dark I caught a glimpse of his teeth... a smile.
“Because my dear little virgin girl, it’s that little bit closer to Albania where you’ll be spending the foreseeable future.”
Azem Kupi - A Change of Direction
“But why are you taking me to Albania? I don’t want to go to Albania.” I protested. “I want to go home to my family, please don’t take me to Pejë. I just want to go home to my parents.”
Kupi and his gang laughed at me. They laughed as I cried and they teased and taunted me all the way to Pejë. About four kilometres from the centre we stopped and Rexha, a guard and the driver got out. Once again Kupi told me to drive and he said goodbye to his men.
“What’s happening?” I said. Where are they going, where are we going?”
“Drive,” Kupi said, “they are staying here tonight.”
He pointed up the street.
“Our apartment is a little nearer to the centre of Pejë.
“Our apartment? I don’t understand.”
He turned to me. His body language had changed and he was smiling at me, almost looking quite normal.
“Yes Laura, our apartment... just the two of us. Just me and you.”
It was my worst nightmare and my blood ran cold. I was going to be spending the night alone with Azem Kupi. He gave out instructions on where I should drive but my feet were trembling so much I could hardly keep them on the pedals and I even stalled the car at a red traffic light. I half expected Kupi to be angry but he wasn’t. He spoke to me softly.
“Take your time Laura, there’s no hurry.”
Kupi seemed to know a lot about the history of Pejë, he said that during World War II it had been occupied by Albania but then afterwards became part of Yugoslavia as part of the Kosovo province.
“There has always been tension here,” he said. “Relations between Serbs and the majority of Albanians have always been strained during the whole of the 20th century.”
He pointed to some of the buildings that were almost derelict. He explained that the Serbs had shelled them for many weeks.
“It’s not a big city.,” he said, “but the people are killing each other for fun and as for the buildings, destroying them has almost become a national pastime.”
Soon after he pointed to an underground parking entrance and we drove inside. We took a lift to the sixth floor of an apartment block. It was totally different to the one I’d been kept prisoner in Pristina. There was no heavy steel security door just a normal wood panelled door painted white with brass fixtures and a brass number 11 at eye level. Kupi produced a single key, opened the door and we walked in. He locked the door behind us and slipped the key back into his pocket. The apartment was quite pleasant, not what I expected and not what I had been used too and for once it didn’t stink of tobacco. It was very modern and tastefully decorated with a large oblong shaped lounge with soft sofas and a deep piled carpet. The curtains were drawn and Kupi switched on a couple of small lamps and then fiddled with a thermostat for the heating.
“Give it a few minutes it will soon heat up.”
He took my coat and hung it on the back of a chair.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked politely.
“Like what?”
“A drink, as in a glass of wine, something stronger?”
“No thanks.”
I was cold to the point of shivering and I wanted my coat back. I asked Kupi if I could make a coffee and he pointed me in the direction of the kitchen. Kupi was almost to the point of trusting me, as if our relationship was not of prisoner captive but one of friends. I reminded myself I was very much still a prisoner and escape was uppermost in my thoughts, as always, as it had been from the very moment they had taken me.
I poured some water into the kettle and waited for it to boil all the while planning and thinking up a way of how I could get out of there. Kupi had had a lot of drink. Perhaps I could encourage him to drink more and get him to fall asleep. He’d offered me wine, something stronger he’d said. I knew where he’d put the key and I could be out of there in seconds. I’d run for ten minutes, run as far and as fast as I could before starting to look for a police station. It was possible. I looked in the fridge, it was lightly stocked but there were some strong beers and a bottle of white wine. In the corner of the kitchen was a wine rack with three bottles of red. Red was Kupi’s favourite. I made him a coffee and also opened the wine and carried them through on a tray.
He looked up and smiled. He was sitting on the sofa.
“Come and sit beside me Laura.”
I placed the tray on the table and poured him a glass of red wine that I handed to him.
“There’s coffee there too,” I said pointing to the cup.
“Thanks.”
He took the glass of wine a
nd placed the rim to his lips. He barely them before he leant over and placed the glass back onto the tray. I’d need to be patient.
“Come and sit beside me,” he repeated.
I did as he asked, I’d need to be nice to Kupi if I was going to relax him and get him to drink more. I tried to calculate exactly how much he’d had to drink. I counted at least half a dozen beers and many glasses of wine during the meal and then they’d started on brandy. My God, Kupi had drunk enough to send a small army to sleep.
Kupi put his arm around me and pulled me in close.
“You’re shivering,” He said.
“I’m cold.”
It wasn’t the cold. I was trembling with fear. Although Kupi had seemingly changed for the better I knew exactly what he was capable of and I thought back to the first time I had encountered him, when he’d punched and kicked and beat me and then ordered his guards to rape me. He pulled me closer. I could smell him, the aroma of the devil and I shook even more. My skin crawled, as if a thousand lice were picking at my skin. The plan, remember the plan.
I eased myself up.
“More wine Azem?”
I leaned forward and reached for his glass.
“No thanks, I’ll stick to the coffee. I’ve had far too much to drink today and I’m a little tired.”
Kupi stood and walked over to the TV, switched it on and settled for some sort of musical concert. As he walked back I asked him about his limp. How had that happened? Kupi told me he had suffered a gunshot wound in defence of Kosovo. He said he had been one of the founding members of the KLA.
“We started in February 1996,” he said. “We attacked police stations and Yugoslav government officers who had killed Albanian civilians as part of an ethnic cleansing campaign. Of course the Serbian authorities were quick to denounce the KLA as a terrorist organisation and reacted by increasing the number of security forces.”
Kupi laughed.
“The silly bastards played right into our hands boosting our credibility overnight.”