Braco

by Lesleyanne Ryan

  “Stop calling me that!” he yelled. “I’m not your little brother. I’m not supposed to be out here. I’m only fourteen. I’m supposed to be in school or playing with my friends. I was supposed to be with my friends.”

  Atif backed away, his eyes sweeping the ground, unfocused. He couldn’t erase the memory. The overturned car. Dani’s smile. The smoke. The arm. His father waving goodbye.

  “You’re not thinking clearly, Atif. Do you think this is what your friends would have wanted?”

  “Shut up.” Atif pushed Tarak away and tried to walk past him. Tarak stepped back, blocking his way.

  “I’m not going to let you commit suicide.”

  “That’s my choice.”

  “Like your choice to go after the ball?”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “If Dani had gone after that ball and you had died in that alley, would you want him to give up? Wouldn’t your last thought be that you were thankful he survived, that he could go on and do everything you wanted to do? Wouldn’t you want him to live?”

  “Yes,” Atif whispered. Tears welled up in his eyes; he rubbed them away.

  “But you lived. If you throw away your life then his death is meaningless.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It is. He died and you lived. I can’t understand why these things happen, but they do. All we can do is find some meaning in all this insanity. We can live. For them. Because if you don’t then he will be forgotten.”

  “But it was my fault.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fire the shell.”

  “You don’t understand. I went after that ball because I wanted to die. I stood there….” He paused, fighting for a full breath. “I stood there with the ball over my head wishing a sniper would see me.”

  “But they didn’t see you, did they?” Tarak said, his voice softening. “How long have you been thinking like this?”

  A tear welled up and threatened to spill over. Atif ignored it, swallowing hard.

  “I don’t know.” The tear dropped. “I just miss him so much.”

  “Who? Your father?”

  The tears came hard and fast and Atif sank to the ground under their onslaught. He hid his face in his hands. Tarak crouched next to him.

  “Is that why you wanted to be a soldier?”

  Atif nodded and looked up. His vision was still blurred.

  “It would have been so easy. And mama wouldn’t have known. I didn’t want her to know. I just wanted to be with Tata.”

  “Do you think this is what your father would have wanted?”

  Atif looked away, trying to catch his breath.

  “All that matters is that you and Tihana are safe. That’s what he would have wanted.”

  “Is it?” Tarak said.

  “No! But I’m not strong enough to do what he wanted. I can’t take care of them.”

  “But you did take care of them. You got them to Potocari. The blue helmet said the buses were making it through, that the women were safe. They’re alive because of you. That’s what your father wanted. And now he wants you to take care of yourself.”

  “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want to….”

  “Don’t want to what?”

  Atif squeezed his eyes shut. The man in the blue shirt walked forward a few steps and then sank down in the tall grass.

  “I don’t want to die like them.”

  Tarak sat down next to Atif. A hand squeezed his shoulder.

  “You’re not going to die like them. I promise you.”

  Atif fell into Tarak’s arms, tears flooding his face.

  “I will get you to Tuzla. I promise.”

  THURSDAY: NIKO BASARIC

  NIKO PACED BACK and forth along the road; it had been a long day and he was sick of spending hours staring at the same clump of trees. Petar was sitting on the edge of the pavement, not saying a word. Niko found that odd. He had been certain the recruit wouldn’t be able to shut up about his first few moments in combat.

  Although I can’t really call it combat.

  Earlier, Drach had set up a checkpoint on the road for the buses. They hadn’t found any men on the buses, but they’d confiscated money and jewelry from the women. More than two hundred men had walked out of the woods and surrendered. Trucks had taken them to the soccer field in Nova Kasaba.

  Another couple of days then it’ll be over. I’ll be rid of Drach and back on some quiet checkpoint somewhere, figuring out how to get to Austria.

  He glanced at Petar.

  “See anything?”

  Petar shook his head.

  “You okay?”

  “It’s not what I expected.”

  “It usually isn’t.”

  “I can’t believe I shot them. I mean, they weren’t even armed.”

  “You didn’t know that.”

  “I know, I know. When I saw that first man, I thought I was going to piss myself.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Drach did the first time.”

  “Seriously? How do you know?”

  “The sergeant who led the patrol told me. It happened in Croatia. They had to send him back to get changed. They couldn’t stand the stink.”

  Petar smiled for the first time in hours.

  “You’re just playing with me.”

  “No, I’m dead serious. I’ll introduce you to his old sergeant when we go back.”

  The sound of engines broke into the conversation.

  “Buses coming,” Petar said.

  Niko turned around. Sunlight glinted off a windshield. He crossed the road.

  “Hey, Turk!” Drach shouted from the front yard of an abandoned yellow house. He was sitting in a chair next to a small table covered with bottles of wine and plum brandy.

  Damn it. The bastards are already getting drunk.

  “It’s almost time to eat, Turk. Why don’t you find us a pretty girl to share our meal?”

  Niko ignored him.

  Ivan appeared beside Drach and took a swig from one of the bottles.

  “Don’t leave it to him. You’ve seen what passes for pretty in Srebrenica. That’s why he married a Serb.”

  “Could he be smarter than he looks?” Drach said. They laughed, reminding Niko of chimps in nature documentaries.

  The last of the six buses hissed to a stop in front of him. The door opened and he climbed inside, bringing a hand to his nose.

  “Zdravo, my friend,” the bus driver said, rubbing the white stubble on his face. “There are no men aboard. I assure you. Just ugly Turk women who need a bath.”

  “Is there any other kind of Turk woman?” Ivan was standing just outside the door, lighting a cigarette.

  Niko pulled his helmet low over his eyes. He walked along the aisle giving each woman a cursory glance.

  “And what’s your name?”

  Niko stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Ivan, leaning over a woman, was removing the scarf from the girl sitting next to her.

  “Is this your daughter? No, she can’t be. You look too young to be a mother.”

  Satisfied the bus contained no men, Niko turned to leave. Ivan put out his hand.

  “You haven’t picked one.”

  The driver was standing behind Ivan, staring at Niko with eyes that held a plea.

  “I thought you volunteered,” Niko said.

  Ivan pushed Niko aside and pointed.

  “That one.”

  Niko turned around. Ivan’s choice was a young blonde girl wrapped in her mother’s arms.

  “No,” the girl’s mother shrieked.

  “Bring her,” Ivan said to Niko.

&
nbsp; “Please, sir, I am….” The driver shut his mouth on whatever he was going to say when Ivan shoved him aside.

  “Bring her now, Turk. Or we go on another hunt. And this time, you will walk in front of me.” Ivan stood by the door, his arms crossed.

  Niko swallowed hard. He turned and went towards the girl. Her mother stood up, blocking Niko’s path.

  “You are not taking her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Niko whispered. “I don’t have a choice.”

  Another woman stood up. She gestured at her own dark-haired daughter.

  “She is sick,” the woman said. “It might be hepatitis and we’ve been sharing water.”

  “She is right,” the driver said. “She has shared her water. They’re probably all contagious.”

  “What’s taking you so long, Turk?” Ivan’s voice was mocking, impatient.

  Niko stepped closer to the woman and her daughter. The dark-haired girl removed the scarf from her neck, revealing red blotches, and then pulled up her sleeve. Niko examined the sores on the girl’s arm.

  “I don’t think that’s hepatitis,” he said to her mother. His uncle had died from the disease. He was sure the sores his uncle had were different.

  The driver came up behind him.

  “It’s hepatitis,” he whispered. Niko turned and they locked eyes. The driver gave him a slight nod. “Do you want to take the chance?”

  “Turk!”

  “Stay here,” Niko told the blonde girl. He turned around. Ivan was drumming one hand against the driver’s seat. “You don’t want that one. She’s been exposed to hepatitis.”

  “What?”

  “She has,” the driver agreed.

  Ivan swore and turned, pounding his feet on the steps of the bus as he left. Niko felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Thank you, friend,” the driver whispered. “What is your name?”

  Niko faced the driver.

  “I will remember this,” the driver said. “We both know there are a lot of things happening. It would be wrong for some of us, people like you and me, to be blamed.”

  Niko took a last look at the women. His glance was arrested by a familiar face.

  The teacher?

  She met his gaze and nodded.

  Next to her, a little girl was curled up on the lap of a teenager. The child stared wide-eyed at Niko with brilliant green eyes.

  The same eyes as her brother. She must be the baby the teacher used to bring to the soccer games.

  He wanted to step back and ask the woman where her son was, but the quicker he got off the bus, the better for everyone on it. He turned to the driver.

  “Niko Basaric,” he said and extended his hand. The two men shook.

  “My name is Kovac. Alexandar Kovac.”

  Kovac offered Niko a cigarette, but he declined.

  “Take care of yourself, Niko Basaric.”

  He gave the driver a quick smile and then glanced back: the blonde girl was sobbing in her mother’s arms. The teacher was watching him.

  He turned away and stepped off the bus. As the door shut behind him, he heard a girl squeal. He looked around. Ivan stepped from the second last bus in the convoy and walked towards the house, a girl slung over his shoulder. She wore shorts and a pink blouse, her face lost in long, tangled blonde hair.

  Drach abandoned his chair, picked up a bottle of plum brandy, and followed Ivan into the yellow house.

  THURSDAY: ATIF STAVIC

  ATIF SAT WITH his back to Kemal, his knees tight against his chest. He rubbed his eyes hard and then he licked his lips, tasting salt. He pulled a sleeve over his hand and wiped his face. The taste of salt remained.

  Tarak is right, he thought. I have to try. I don’t want Mama to spend her life watching the woods and waiting.

  He looked up, searching for movement in the trees. Tarak and the other man had been gone an hour. They planned to carry the injured as close to the road as possible, leaving them where they could call out to the Serbs after Tarak and the others were at a safe distance away.

  “Do you wish to join me?”

  Atif looked around. Behind him, Kemal was unrolling his prayer mat.

  “I don’t know how to pray,” Atif said.

  “Well,” Kemal said, considering Atif’s words for a moment. “It’s not my place to tell you how.”

  “I don’t think my father believed anymore.”

  Kemal’s eyes wandered. “Tito had a way of making us all forget our old ways and all our old hatreds. Brotherhood and unity was his way. Perhaps if he were alive today….” His words faded as he adjusted the mat, glancing up at the sun. “If you wish, I will keep you in my prayers.”

  Atif shrugged; Kemal knelt.

  “Don’t worry. Everything is as Allah wills it. If we are meant to survive, we will make it through. If not, then it is Allah’s will.”

  Atif dug crackers out of his pack; Kemal prayed.

  Bushes rustled.

  Atif’s head jerked around. Branches waved. A bird dropped from a tree, flying in a series of right angles until it disappeared in the foliage. Kemal got up from his mat and lay down on the ground next to Atif.

  “Is it them?”

  “I don’t know,” Atif whispered.

  Twigs snapped. Movement.

  Chetnik patrol?

  A white armband appeared among the greenery.

  “Yes, they’re back.”

  Kemal patted Atif on the shoulder. “You see, my friend. Allah is watching over us.”

  Atif stared at the old man then looked away. “Tarak?”

  Tarak emerged from the trees, looking at Atif as if he had half expected to find him gone. Izet walked behind him, wiping tears from his eyes. Vahid brought up the rear.

  “Are you okay?” Tarak asked.

  Atif nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  Tarak shook his shoulder. “Don’t apologize. You seem to be holding a lot of emotion inside. Can’t say I blame you, but it’s good to get some of it out.”

  “I guess so.”

  Tarak looked at the men. “We should keep going.”

  Kemal rolled up his mat.

  “What are we going to do?” Vahid asked.

  “I wanted to go as far to the northwest as I can by nightfall and hope they don’t have as many troops there. They seem to be concentrated in this area and they only have so many soldiers. Are you up to it?”

  “We will try.”

  “Is that you, Tarak?” a voice asked from the woods.

  The five men flinched like dogs avoiding an angry palm. Tarak straightened up and stepped forward.

  “Who is that?”

  Atif scanned the woods for movement but saw none until two soldiers rose from the bushes a few metres away.

  So close?

  “Salko?”

  The soldiers wore mismatched camouflage like Tarak. One carried a rifle and had three grenades hanging from his webbing; the other held a pistol loosely by his side. The first soldier, a burly man with a shaved head, walked up to Tarak and hugged him.

  “I heard the boy shout and then I was sure I heard your voice. I was wondering what became of you.”

  “And you. I thought you would have crossed by now.”

  “I was across last night. I came back to help with the wounded and got trapped. Then we ran into a Chetnik patrol and had to leave the wounded anyway.”

  “Is it just the two of you?”

  “Yes,” he said, motioning to his young, lanky companion. “This is Ratib.”

  “Got any ideas on how to get across?”

  “I have a secret way,” Salko said. “I can get us all across.”

  “How?”

  “We go
under the road.”

  “They’ll have all the bridges and culverts covered.”

  “Not this one.” Salko raised his hands to animate their destiny. “It’s like a bridge, but it’s not. More like a square, concrete culvert. It’s barely a metre across. It’s so small you could be standing on the road and never know it existed. There used to be a creek running through there, but it’s so steep, they built this small bridge instead of a culvert. The creek is dried up except when it rains a lot. The ditch on this side is heavily forested and steep. It would be impossible to see from the road.

  “It’s not far. Maybe an hour or two. I’ve used it a dozen times to cross over since the war started.”

  Tarak looked at Atif.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  We might really get out of this, Atif thought, working to stifle his excitement.

  “Are you kidding?”

  THURSDAY: JAC LARUE

  GRAVEL CRACKLED UNDER Jac’s boot. He looked down, weeded out the larger pebbles with his boots and flipped them over the bank. Some bounced to the bottom. Others dragged along a miniature avalanche of stones, gravel, and dust. Maarten was sitting on the edge of the road, tossing pebbles into the dust cloud.

  “So,” Maarten said, wiping his hands against his pants. “Who do you think is going to shoot us first? The Serbs or Janssen?”

  Jac eyed the Serbs on the opposite side of the road. Soldiers were stationed every few metres, their attention directed across a large farm to the south.

  “Janssen said this might happen. He said they took some jeeps yesterday.”

  “And what happened to the guys in the jeeps?”

  “No idea.”

  Maarten tossed another stone.

  “Always wondered what the inside of a Belgrade prison looks like.”

  “You might enjoy that.”

  Maarten flipped a stone in Jac’s direction.

  The rumble of a truck engine caught Jac’s attention. He turned: a troop truck was rounding a corner in the distance.

  “Men or soldiers?” Maarten asked without looking up.

  “It’s going west. Men.”

  Maarten looked up as the truck passed with its cargo of civilian men stuffed into the back.

  “I’d like to know how they can breathe in there,” he said, taking notes.