by Laura Aslan
As Peter’s words sank in Brian walked from the bathroom. He looked at me, gave a half smile and started to shake his head. At one point I thought he was going to walk away but he didn’t. He walked over slowly and I stood to greet him. He took me in his arms for a split second and gave me a token hug. He was so cold towards me and as we broke apart he turned around and walked back into his bedroom. I felt so hurt... rejected... disappointed and I remember feeling sorry for myself. I remember thinking that after everything I had been through I didn’t deserve this from my friends.
Peter repeated that they had to go to work and now that it was known that I had been brought back to the apartment it was impossible to stay there on my own. I wasn’t stupid, I knew that, and yet I couldn’t help feeling that Brian and Peter couldn’t wait to get rid of me. He told me I couldn’t stay in Pristina because they would be looking for me. He looked genuinely upset, saying that if it were possible he’d stay with me for 24 hours a day and take care of me but it wasn’t.
I was annoyed with myself. I hadn’t been thinking when the people at the police station had asked me where I wanted to go. What a stupid suggestion asking to come back here. No, I needed to get out of Pristina and I needed to get out of there quickly. I sensed Kupi and his gang were already making in-roads as to my whereabouts and that they would already be hunting furiously for me. I had to be silenced, I had to be silenced like all the rest, this was what Peter was saying only he didn’t quite have the bluntness to put it like that. I was on a death list. I had to be eliminated. According to the older policeman I was the only living soul who could put Kupi and his gang behind bars for the rest of their lives. I needed to get out of Pristina quickly, across the border at least.
It was agreed that Peter and Brian would get me on a bus in the direction of Veliki Trnovac. By all accounts the buses were running quite normally.
I wanted to say goodbye to the apartment and I wandered from room to room in a daze, like a zombie. I stayed some time in the kitchen looking at my little bed where I had felt so safe and yet somehow knew I would never see it again. I felt sad, like a little girl lost, as if I were saying goodbye to a dying relative. I walked into Brian’s room and picked up a CD cover.
Carlos Santana, Maria - Maria. I recalled how Brian had played the track almost constantly. The lyrics of one particular verse seemed to hang in the air as I hummed the tune and although Brian wasn’t there, the aroma of his aftershave, Joop, seemed to permeate the room
You know you’re my lover
When the wind blows
I can feel you through the weather
And even when we are apart
It still feels like we’re together.
I wanted to cry, I wanted to hit out at someone or something, I wanted to smash the CD cover into pieces. I picked it up and held it above my head. That song meant so much to me or at least I thought it did. I was so close to throwing it onto the floor and putting the heel of my shoe through the plastic box. In the end I thought better of it and placed it back into its original position. I walked into Peter’s room and the kitchen and then into the bathroom and even though I knew it was all rather childish I said goodbye to everything.
It was time to go. Peter gave me a small American flag and a picture of himself sitting on a motorcycle. He said it would remind me of him. He looked at his watch and said his shift would be starting in two hours so we had to get a move on.
Brian stood in the doorway as I walked towards the door.
“I think it’s best if I stay here,” he said.
He turned to Peter, almost blanking me.
“I’ll wait for you here, don’t be too long.”
I was embarrassed. I couldn’t think what I had done to upset this man so much. He stepped forward and gave me a hug. There was no feeling in it, so different to the last time he had held me in his arms.
As we drove to the bus station Peter emphasised the danger I was in and the need for me to get across the border as quick as possible. My old mobile was still in the apartment and Peter had kept it fully charged. I had tried to contact my parents all day but for some reason it wouldn’t connect. I tried to think positively and tried to imagine the meeting with my parents later that day. Forget about Pristina and Kupi I told myself, forget about the Kosovan police and Brian and Peter too. Life would be back to normal in Veliki Trnovac. I reassured myself that there had been no power cuts and that the buses were operating smoothly. Things had changed, things had changed for the better and in a few hours I would be back home and reunited with my beautiful parents and I’d start my life over again. They’d cry tears of joy and happiness and my mother would throw a big party and every single member of the family would be invited. There’d be a feast with all the finest fish and meat and no doubt a big plate of Sarma, her favourite dish, the cabbage marinated in mincemeat and spices. I could almost smell it.
Peter had made me sit in the back of his car and told me to keep my head down. We pulled into the bus station and he asked me to wait in the back while he checked out the buses. I crouched down in the back so that my head was below the window level of the door.
Peter returned with good news. He said he had checked out a bus heading near to Veliki Trnovac. He’d paid the bus driver who would look after me, he said that the bus was almost full with families on their way to meet their relatives in Serbia. Peter said that he had a nice feeling about the bus and that there were no soldiers on board, no policemen and no groups of men.
He pointed at it.
“It leaves in fifteen minutes, I’ll stay here until it drives away.”
So we said our goodbyes in the back of the car. Peter exuded a warmth that Brian lacked, his tears falling freely and he didn’t seem ashamed or bothered. We sat there for an age and eventually as the bus engine fired up he ushered me out of the car. I climbed on the bus and took my seat. As it pulled away from the bus station the images of my parents faces filled my head and gradually a smile appeared across my face as the memories of the last few months dissolved away.
My nightmare was eventually over.
Back Home to Veliki Trnovac and an Unexpected Welcome
Those beautiful images of my parents faces kept fading and instead were replaced with the disappointment of Brian’s attitude towards me and the realisation that it had appeared he couldn’t wait to see the back of me. On reflection I knew everything made sense but it didn’t help to soften the blow of rejection. The translator had explained what I’d been through and I would have thought that my two American friends could have somehow persuaded their commanding officer to grant at least one or two days off and I could have told them my story face to face, apologised to them or tried to make it up to them in some way. Yet they hadn’t even picked up the phone and tried to contact anyone back at their headquarters. I don’t believe in coincidences and I believe that people wander in and out of your life for a reason. I felt sure that this was not the way it was meant to finish with Brian. Somehow, somewhere I would see him again and he’d explain everything. But right at that moment in time it was hard to get over, difficult to see the bigger picture.
I tried to push my feelings of hurt and confusion to the back of my mind and as we got nearer to Veliki Trnovac it seemed to work. I tried my mobile phone again but there was still no answer, but I wasn’t unduly concerned because Peter had told me that all nearby communications were in a hell of a mess. It seemed the rebels on both sides were only too happy to target and sabotage mobile phone masts even though it affected their own communications too.
I reflected on my Agi’s smile, his infectious laugh, my mother’s almost hallucinogenic smell and I so wanted to melt into her arms again.
We passed a sign that said we were only three kilometres from Kamenice and soon after, we arrived at the border into Serbia. It had taken no more than two hours and the security was almost non-existent. There we
re a few UN soldiers who stopped the bus, peered through the windows and then they waved us on. I gave a sigh of relief. Was it too much to expect that things really were back to normal and people had stopped killing each other, stopped hating their neighbours?
A little while later the driver called me forward and told me we would not be stopping in Veliki Trnovac but in a village close by called Turija. I knew Turija well and it was only a few kilometres from Veliki Trnovac. I told him that was fine. It was a small village of no more than three thousand people and I even began to look forward to the short walk around the mountain to my hometown. It would be a novelty to me. It had been too long since I had been able to walk as a free person.
The driver dropped me off on the highway on the edge of town, at a bus stop strangely named white sand. He said there was no need to drive into the village, as I was the only one going there. I wondered how much Peter had paid him over and above his normal wage. I thought he was a little cold towards me and it seemed as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I wasn’t perturbed and said goodbye and thanked him politely as I almost jumped from the steps of the bus. It felt good to get my feet onto home soil. I had been in Kosovo far too long and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was back where I belonged. I slung my bag onto my shoulder and pulled up my coat collar against the cold as I looked up at my favourite mountain, Beli Breg, towering above me. I had never seen such a beautiful sight in my entire life. Spring was on its way and as I set off walking I was almost startled by the birdsong that echoed all around me. I couldn’t think that I had heard any birds singing during my overlong stay in Pristina.
I walked fast with a spring in my step. There were very few people and not once did I see any sign of a policeman or an army uniform that suited me fine. I could hear the very faint sound of gunfire in the distance but wasn’t unduly concerned as it seemed many kilometres away and as I spotted the turn off to Veliki Trnovac I picked up my pace once again.
I stood outside the house I had grown up in and took everything in. I wanted to run through the gates and up to the front door and yet I wanted to linger a while and fill my lungs with the smell of the mountains and clean unpolluted air. I felt free. If anyone was to ask me how I felt that day as I stood outside my family home I would have said free, that’s the one word I would have used. I felt as free as the birds that had accompanied me on my journey from Turija. As I walked through the gates I tried my best not to think too hard about the bullet holes in the wall. I looked up and noticed a thin wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. My parents were in for such a surprise.
The front door was open which I thought was a little strange. It was still quite cold and it made no sense. Nevertheless I walked through the door.
“Agi, Nani,” I called out. “It’s me, Laura, I’m home.”
I waited in silence for some time but there was no sound, no reaction. I walked through the lounge and noticed the dying but still glowing embers in the fireplace. As I walked into the kitchen I was further relieved to see the remnants of breakfast on the table. There were two dirty plates and three or four slices of bread and two cups. Although the cups were quite cold the bread appeared to be relatively fresh and I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew my parents were here. I sensed they were alive and well.
I made my way cautiously upstairs and checked the bedrooms one by one but there was no sign of them. I walked back downstairs and out into the yard. I stood looking at the house trying to work things out. The door had been open so they couldn’t be far and I noticed that Agi’s car was parked by the far side of the wall so they hadn’t gone shopping or visiting.
There was only one place they could be and that was in the basement where we kept the winter supply of wood. It made sense. The fire burning in the grate needed to be fed as it was almost out. That’s where they would be I convinced myself. It was a scene I was familiar with, my father with his arms stretched out in front of him while Nani placed as many logs as he could carry on his outstretched arms.
I walked around to the back of the house and opened the door to the basement. For some reason I didn’t call out, but instead crept quietly down the half dozen stone steps. I pushed open the interior door to the wood store and almost cried with relief as I locked eyes with my parents and cried out in joy as I took a few steps forward before collapsing in a heap in front of them.
But it was not the emotional meeting I had envisaged. There were no tears of joy or embracing, no hugs and kisses or outpouring of grief or relief. I had imagined something out of the movies, a scene that would reflect the fact my parents hadn’t seen or heard from me in nearly two months, parents who I assumed had been notified by the police or the UN that I had gone missing in a war zone. No. Instead my father berated me.
“You stupid girl. Why have you come back here?”
He looked terrified and angry. I looked at my mother who was crying but they weren’t tears of joy. Fear was written right across her face.
“Nani... Agi... Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
I pitched forward and they had no choice but to hold me. That’s what I wanted more than anything. Their touch. I wanted to drink in their smell and for a few delicious seconds I experienced just that.
“You have to go Laura, please,” my mother said.
I looked at them.
“But I’m home. Didn’t they tell you I was kidnapped by Azem Kupi?”
My parents looked confused and they ignored what I had said.
“You have to go,” my father repeated, “the soldiers are still here and it’s not safe. They have been here and they are watching and they still...”
We all looked up at the same time. It was the front gates being pushed open and clashed against the stonewall. It was a sound I’d heard a thousand times. A vehicle of some sort drove fast into the garden and screeched to a halt.
Mother burst into tears.
“We tried to tell you, it’s not safe.”
“The army,” Agi said, “they’re back again.”
Agi was on his feet trying to take control of the situation as he told me to stay where I was. He walked up the stone steps to confront the soldiers. I listened in to the conversation and it was immediately clear exactly who they had come for.
“Where is your daughter?”
“She is not here.”
“Do not lie to us old man, we have people watching this house.”
“But she isn’t here I tell you.”
My father protested and I heard a slap or a punch and the sound of a body fall to the ground. My mother pulled me in closer and hugged me tight. She knew and I knew that I was about to be taken away again and we both knew we could do nothing about it. Outside there was lots of swearing and shouting while inside my mother just wanted to hold me, to stroke my hair and she hummed a little lullaby as if she was so happy to have her only child back in her arms once again. I wasn’t particularly frightened as the two soldiers came down the stairs. Agi was behind them still protesting and a trickle of blood trailed from the corner of his eye down his right cheek.
He was still trying to save me.
“You have no right to take her.”
One of the soldiers raised his weapon towards my father.
“We have every right old man, we are the Serbian military and we are in control here.”
“You are no more military than I am,” Agi said. “Look at you, you’re a damn mess, no badges or name tags and I swear none of you have had a wash or a shave since last week.”
He was right. Although they wore army uniforms and carried guns there was something different about them. They reminded me of the soldiers on the mountain the night Uncle Demir saved the village. The long haired, tattooed brigade someone had called them. They swore and cursed as they stepped forward and pulled my mother’s arms from me and dragged me to me feet.
“
She’s coming with us for questioning, she’s been spying for the Kosovans.”
I almost laughed at the irony of it all. I had been accused of spying for the Serbs by the Kosovans and now the Serbs were suggesting I’d spied for Kosovo.
But I had no fight left in me. I didn’t care anymore. I had seen my parents alive, they were safe and they had seen me too. That was all that mattered at that moment in time. I managed to hand my mother the police case number from Pristina and also the policeman’s card. I didn’t know if she would contact him but at that point I wasn’t particularly bothered. Perhaps the soldiers would question me and let me go, either way I didn’t want them to get their hands on that information. I said goodbye to my parents and told them not to worry.
In many respects it was easier being taken for the second time because at least my parents knew who had taken me and I had been taken from my home town. If it makes any sense I felt somehow more content... I no longer felt lost anymore. I was more than willing to die having been taken by the enemy everyone feared.
There were only two soldiers and they blindfolded me and pushed me into the back of a jeep. The doors slammed and they started the engine and drove fast through the gates. I didn’t ask any questions as I feared it was the end. Within minutes the interior of the jeep was filled with choking cigarette smoke as the two soldiers chatted to themselves and ignored me. At that stage I wasn’t remotely interested in what they were saying to each other.
We drove through a few towns as I heard the noise of the traffic and then after about half an hour the vehicle climbed and turned onto a twisting, winding road for about another fifteen minutes. We were now in the mountains.
Eventually we stopped and I was ordered out. It was so peaceful, so quiet. They told me to keep my blindfold on, saying it was for my own good and I was aware of being led into a building. They took my blindfold off once they had closed the door. My eyes grew accustomed to the surroundings and it looked like the inside of an old farm building. I immediately noticed how cold it was.