by James Lyon
‘Does he mean that much to you?’ Slatina studied her silent face. ‘Very well.’ He lifted his sunglasses and looked her in the eyes: ‘I promise.’
She looked in his eyes, nodded her head, and then gazed again at the Pacific, as her thoughts turned to her father. The evening before his funeral a butterfly had appeared inside their house, even though the windows were closed. Her mother had looked at it, smiled amid her tears, and said ‘Your father’s come back to comfort us.’ Under the butterfly’s watchful gaze, the two of them ironed a clean shirt, socks and underwear, and laid out his best suit, tie and shoes, so that they would have fresh clothes to take to the morgue to dress the body. That night before they went to bed, Katarina turned to the butterfly and said ‘goodnight, Papa.’ It seemed to move its wings slightly in response.
Slatina interrupted her thoughts. ‘You must pray for Steven with all the strength of your heart,’ he added, then seemed to whisper something to the butterfly perched on his book.
She nodded silently and watched the butterfly open its wings, take flight from the spine of the book and disappear into the sunlight glinting from the Pacific Ocean’s waves.
* * *
The following Thursday Steven knocked on Professor Ljubovic’s office door. Ljubovic opened it and smiled grimly at Steven: ‘Well, you’ve certainly stirred up things in the reading room.’
‘The new librarian banned me from the reading room. All I did was ask for a book that Gordana had given me earlier.’
‘Ah, Steven,’ the Professor said. ‘Perhaps we should take another walk.’ He motioned for Steven to follow him. ‘There are too many ears inside the Faculty, too many people not minding their own business, too many suspicious minds.’
‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’ Steven blurted. ‘All I did…’
‘Listen to me.’ Ljubovic interrupted. ‘Something strange is happening. Yesterday the DB came by my flat and spoke with me for two hours. They wanted to know who you are, what you are doing, who is financing you and whether you’re a spy. Believe it or not, even though this is a police state, they are quite inefficient, and it seems they didn’t know you were here in Serbia or what you were doing. I told them about your ethnography research and they seem to have accepted it.’
‘But from now on you must be very careful. I think some of the assistant professors may be informers, and perhaps some of the graduate students too. You have nothing to hide…you are conducting legitimate work, so if they call you in for questioning, be truthful with them. Are you registered with the police?’
‘Yes, my landlord took me when I arrived.’
‘Good, then you have at least followed procedures. You can’t get in trouble for that.’ They walked briskly out across the fortress and down a steep path paved with rough rocks. ‘I asked about Gordana the librarian. She isn’t ill. Rather, she displeased someone and they placed her on leave of absence. Her replacement is from the DB and the Dean is very upset.’
‘The DB? You’re kidding!’ Steven exclaimed. ‘Am I safe? Should I leave the country?’
‘I’m not sure. People are paranoid because of the wars. They don’t know how to live without communism. For many people communism was comfortable and they liked being told what to do. For now, just keep your head down. It might not be a bad idea to leave Belgrade until things calm down. Have you thought of going to Novi Sad? Professor Stojadinovic would be delighted to work with you.’
‘I was thinking the same thing,’ Steven’s heart lightened at the prospect.
‘Good. Tomorrow is May Day, so there’ll be a long holiday weekend. I suggest you relax, enjoy the weekend and then go to Novi Sad.’
‘But is there any way I can find the Djordjevic book? It’s really important.’
‘I can’t help you. It would be risky to get it from the reading room. I’ve asked some friends about it and no one has ever heard of it.’
They walked across the lower city towards a medieval stone tower. ‘But I do know a man who might be able to help you. He lives in Sremski Karlovci just south of Novi Sad. They say he knows every book published in this part of the world for the last 300 years. He’s Volks Deutsche, you know, the ethnic Germans who were settled in Vojvodina by the Empress Maria Theresa in the 18th century. I will give you his address. Perhaps he can find the book for you.’
As they approached the tower Ljubovic pointed at it and explained its origins. When they reached its base he motioned for Steven to follow him as he climbed through a window into the tower. Once inside, he pulled out a notebook, hastily scribbled down the name and address of the bookstore in Sremski Karlovci and handed it to Steven.
Ljubovic then exhaled deeply: ‘The walk has been good for us, no?’
Steven nodded.
* * *
Back at his apartment Steven called Professor Stojadinovic and made arrangements to come to Novi Sad. No sooner had he put down the receiver than the phone rang. No one else was home, so he answered.
‘Stefan, how are you,’ Vesna’s voice flowed softly from the receiver.
He told her his plans to visit Novi Sad.
‘Will you stay long? How will you get there?’ She asked the questions faster than he could answer. ‘Bear has a car…perhaps Tamara and I can talk him into driving you there… can you help pay for gasoline?… then we can have a nice excursion… we all need to get out of here… meet us tonight at 8:00 at the horse statue… we’re going out to a movie… tomorrow night we’ll stay out all night and celebrate your success and then on Sunday we’ll take our hangovers to Novi Sad… okay?’
‘Okay.’ He liked her voice. ‘But can we take the old road? I’d like to see Sremski Karlovci en route.’
‘That’s a wonderful idea. Sremski Karlovci is beautiful. Did you know they call it the Serbian Athens?’
‘Yes, I’ve read about it. I’ll see you tonight at the horse.’
‘Yes, tonight at the horse,’ she repeated his words to him.
‘Your studies are your first priority,’ he thought to himself and smiled.
* * *
That evening Steven walked to the Square of the Republic, hoping to release the anxiety caused by the DB visit to Ljubovic. He arrived early, so he walked around window shopping, when he caught sight of Gordana the librarian. She walked past him rapidly into a side street that dropped towards the Danube, carrying a shopping bag. She didn’t notice him so he quickened his pace and followed her, trying to keep a discreet distance between them.
She continued downhill into a dimly-lit neighborhood of old buildings and tree-lined streets, her footsteps echoing off the pavement, until she came to the doorway of an old apartment, where she rummaged through her purse.
The street was deserted except for parked cars and Steven approached, calling her name tentatively: ‘Gordana, good evening.’
Startled, she looked up at him and blanched as though seeing a ghost.
‘Go away,’ her voice was shaky. ‘I’ve already had enough trouble because of you.’
A cough echoed down the deserted street from one of the many darkened doorways. ‘They’re watching,’ she hissed. ‘Leave! Now!’
‘But I…’
‘That cursed book has caused me too much trouble,’ Gordana spat. ‘They’ll harm my son if I talk to you. Go away. Leave me alone. Now!’ Her voice quivered with fear as she found her keys, opened the door and disappeared inside.
Steven looked around the tree-lined street, shadows covering the pavement where the streetlights couldn’t penetrate the foliage.
From somewhere the cough came again.
He turned and walked up the hill to meet Bear, Tamara and Vesna.
When he arrived they were waiting for him. Vesna waved and gave him a small peck on the cheek, which elicited smiles from Tamara and Bear. And then they walked to the movie theatre, Vesna holding his arm.
* * *
He spent much of May Day with Bear and Tamara at Vesna’s home, sitting in the back yard and talking to her pare
nts and grandparents while they grilled copious quantities of meat and vegetables. The family atmosphere and Vesna’s smile relaxed him for the first time since his encounter with the bulldog librarian. Vesna’s father – an engineer – and her mother – a bank manager – had traveled extensively: ‘That is, before that ass Slobo came to power,’ Vesna’s mother said vehemently while her father nodded in agreement.
They spoke eloquently of their ancestors, the Glogovac family, who had left Kosovo centuries before and settled in Croatia. They reminisced of their travels to Asia, Africa, Europe and the United States, and Steven didn’t leave until nearly midnight. As he left Vesna kissed him gently goodbye on the cheek, and whispered ‘goodnight’ in his ear. He floated all the way back to his apartment, while unconvincingly repeating the mantra ‘your studies come first.’
Saturday night he arrived early at the horse and made small talk with Bear. ‘How’s the draft dodging? They still looking for you?’
‘Screw them,’ Bear spat. ‘Yesterday the Military Police visited my sister’s home. But they’ll have to kill me before I fight for Milosevic.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘I’m still at my Uncle’s place on Banovo Hill,’ Bear said. ‘He’s an officer, so that’s the last place they’ll look.’ He gestured towards a young man passing by in green camouflage, wearing the wolf’s head arm patch of a paramilitary unit, his eyes blank, his movements those of an old man. ‘Look at that idiot. They’re all drug addicts…you can see it on their faces. They have to take drugs to sleep after what they do on the battlefield. They’re all convicts and criminals… killers… Slobo’s children.’ Bear whispered to Steven.
Bear then whistled quietly, grinned and nodded in the direction of the National Theatre. ‘Look at that.’
Two tall women strode confidently across the square arm in arm, both wearing black lace-up high-heeled boots, dark stockings and short dark skirts, topped by dark sweaters and leather jackets, long hair streaming down past their shoulders. Their faces and makeup were perfect, as though they had stepped off the pages of Vogue: lips glittered, teeth sparkled, cheeks blazed with life and eyes glistened excitedly. Both walked in a way that indicated they knew every male eye was on them. Steven stared, only to realize as they drew closer that they were none other than Vesna and Tamara. He caught himself gawking at how beautiful Vesna was.
‘Wow, look at you two!’ Bear wrapped his arms around Tamara while Vesna kissed Steven three times on the cheeks. ‘You know Mariah Carey had a song about you,’ Bear commented. ‘Vision of Love!’ They all laughed.
‘Let’s go,’ Tamara pulled Bear towards the National Theatre and Vesna and Steven followed, Vesna holding Steven’s arm above the elbow. They walked slowly to a basement club on Francuska Street that played funk, soul, blues and rock, some domestic, some foreign, the words Soul Food above the door. Most of the men stared at Vesna and Tamara as the four of them entered. The décor was thrown-together African ethnic funk, and the place was crowded. They found a spot along a wall, ordered drinks and began to shout at each other over Steppenwolf’s Born to be Wild.
‘When do we leave?’ Steven shouted.
‘When we wake up,’ Bear hollered back. ‘Probably around noon or one o’clock. That okay?’
‘Can we stop in Sremski Karlovci?’
‘No problem. Have you seen Petrovaradin fortress?’
‘Only from the train. It was dark.’
‘We’ll go there tomorrow…you’ll like it.’
The girls were dancing together to a Yugoslav pop song about girls in summer dresses, smiling and flirting outrageously with each other and a group of young men that surrounded them. ‘Are they okay?’ Steven shouted at Bear, aware that he was feeling protective of Vesna.
‘No problem, they’re friends of ours. We always have fun like this.’
Steven’s eyes drifted to Vesna, watching as her skirt raised and lowered slightly over the tops of her thighs, in rhythm to the music. As she danced her breasts swayed gently under the sweater, occasionally straining against the wool. Her movements were hypnotic, and Steven soon joined her on the dance floor, watching her sway rhythmically, her long chestnut hair floating back and forth as she tossed her head.
The music slowed down as a Dalmatian singer implored them to believe in love, and Vesna placed her arms around his neck, drew her body snugly against his, and nuzzled his neck with her nose and forehead. The scent of her perfume was alluring and he placed his hands on the small of her back, which caused her to snuggle in even closer and plant a small kiss on his neck. He moved one hand up her back, gently, towards her neck and she moved against him.
‘You are a good man,’ Vesna whispered in Steven’s ear. And then the music sped up suddenly, they separated and the girls began hopping madly around the room, singing at the top of their lungs to a Croatian rock band: “we’re dancing, all day and night”. Obviously the war did not apply to popular music.
Tamara and Vesna spent most of the night dancing at a frantic pace, while Bear and Steven stood at the side wall and talked about the war, the trip to Novi Sad, the war, the girls, the war, and hyperinflation. After a while the girls pulled them both back out to dance to a Croatian rock song about a black and white world.
Suddenly the music died, the house lights came up and a large shaven headed leatherman flashed a Scorpion submachine pistol and police badge and called for everyone’s attention. Other policemen in blue camouflage, combat boots, body armor and helmets blocked the entrance, and others were dispersed throughout the crowd, all wielding Kalashnikovs.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ the bald man said. ‘We’re here to conduct a little routine control. Please have your documents ready for inspection.’ The police began examining the identity cards of all the men present and searched them. When they came to Steven they perused his passport, asked him why he was in Serbia, seemed satisfied with his response, and proceeded to Bear, who handed them his I.D. card wrapped in a 20 Deutsche Mark bill. Then the lead officer bid everyone goodnight and thanked them for their cooperation. Music played, the houselights dimmed, and the dancing resumed as if nothing had happened.
‘Are you okay?’ Tamara rushed to Bear’s side. ‘I thought they might take you away to the army.’
‘No problems,’ Bear said nonchalantly, but his words didn’t match his demeanor, and he was sweating profusely.
‘What was that about?’ Steven asked.
‘They raid the clubs to search for drugs, illegal weapons, criminals and draft-dodgers,’ Vesna said. ‘It’s all just for show. On the streets there’s chaos and the police do nothing. They hardly ever find anything, because anyone who does have drugs or weapons will either offer bribes or have his girlfriend hold them in her purse. They don’t dare arrest the criminals for fear of retribution.’
‘Why didn’t they check the women?’
‘Come on, Stefan,’ Bear said incredulously. ‘This is Serbia. We’re a patriarchal country. You know what’d happen if they checked women? An uprising.’
By Belgrade standards the night was still young, only 1:30, but the raid had soured Bear’s mood. ‘Let’s go,’ he urged the others.
‘Why don’t you come over to my place for coffee?’ Tamara asked. The four of them walked to Tamara’s apartment, only a few blocks away from the club. Tamara ushered them into a sitting room, turned on a dim table lamp, put on a tape of Barry White, and went in to the kitchen to fix coffee.
‘Bear, would you help me with the coffee?’ Tamara called from the other room. Bear left Steven alone with Vesna, who stood examining a painting on the wall. Steven sat on the sofa and gazed at her admiringly as she stood with her back to him. ‘She looks fantastic,’ he thought.
The table lamp dimly illuminated half of Vesna’s figure, leaving the rest in shadow. She turned and glided towards Steven, pulled his legs apart and stood between them, then pulled his head against her stomach so he could hear her heartbeat through her thin sweater. Th
e musk of her perfume – mingled with sweat – entered his nostrils and aroused him. She leaned over, placed her forehead against the top of his head and let her hair cascade over him like a dark, soft waterfall that tickled his skin, covering his face and neck. The physical attraction was strong and the rest of the world increasingly distant.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ he murmured softly, as he reached out his hands and placed them around her waist, drawing her closer.
‘Why not?’ she whispered breathlessly, wriggling her body against his head.
He felt her heart pound palpably through the fabric of her sweater, and his head clouded with desire. It was hard to think of a reason not to and his breathing quickened.
‘We need to stop,’ he pleaded, unwilling to push her away. ‘We really need to stop.’
‘We’re stopping,’ she said as she pressed him closer.
She knelt between his knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, their heads pressed so closely he felt the softness of her cheek and the warmth of her breath. She rubbed her cheek gently against his and kissed his earlobe, sending tingles across his shoulders and into his groin.
Steven placed one hand across the back of her neck, and another around her waist. He felt her softness, pulled her lips to his and kissed her. Vesna answered with a gentle kiss that quickly turned to fire and soon threatened to devour him.
He embraced her fully as they collapsed backward onto the sofa, lying entangled in each other’s ardent grasp. Primordial instincts enveloped them in a cocoon of passion that shut out the room as they clung to each other, desperately seeking salvation from the evil decay about them. As they drank the heat from each other’s gasping lips, the world rapidly swirled around, casting off all distractions, until only Steven and Vesna remained.
She grabbed his shirt, untucked it from his jeans and violently pulled it over his head. As she did so his Hawthorne wood cross swung free and bumped against her forehead. ‘Take off the cross,’ she panted.