While she mulled over her silent thoughts, Marc was frenetically trying to erase any trace of the fight. He had taken some clothes out of his backpack and changed first his T-shirt then his trousers, not an easy task in the confined space of the cab. And it probably hurt. Maud did not dare turn her head to see if he was wincing. She supposed that if she’d been in the same circumstances, she would have reacted in the same way: hide your pain, don’t let your feelings show, restore your dignity as quickly as possible.
Then Marc took some wipes from the glove compartment that they normally used for the windshield. He cleaned his face and rubbed a few of the cuts he had on his arms and neck to remove any trace of blood and dirt. His most spectacular wound was a long gash on the right-hand side of his upper lip. He rolled a wipe into a ball and began dabbing gently at the wound. It was also a way to hide it. He was more or less presentable by the time they caught up with the lead truck and stopped to go through the checkpoint.
This time, at the entrance to town, a veritable Serbian war station was blocking the road. The soldiers were wearing the regulation uniform of the Yugoslav Army. Their insignia indicated their rank, and the Chetnik badge was in its place on their chests. UN armored vanguard vehicles were parked a little further along, and a group of peacekeepers were talking with the Serbian officers. There was an air of great calm among the soldiers, because the job of checking convoys was like a rest, almost a reward, in comparison to the danger they were exposed to when they were stationed at combat posts. At the same time, an atmosphere of urban warfare pervaded the entire scene with a dull and constant anxiety, and made every gesture seem somehow threatening.
The checkpoint itself was less formidable than the isolated ones they had seen up to now. The regular nature of the army holding the position meant a thorough search was unlikely; equally improbable was any attempt at blackmail or extortion of merchandise. The presence of UNPROFOR was also a reassuring sign. Even if the international forces were reduced to inaction and helplessness, their mere presence made them witnesses, so while they were there, the combatants would refrain from any abuse of power.
And this was the first time they would be going through a major town in the war zone. The urban environment made them uneasy, instilling a fear they had never felt in the countryside.
Marc talked with the soldiers while an officer checked their documents. Maud noticed how quickly he had struck up the conversation. Alex was right: he seemed to be equally at ease with all of them: Serbs, Croats, and company. What could this “commitment” be, then, that Alex had mentioned regarding Marc?
Once they were through the checkpoint without a hitch, they climbed back into the trucks.
“Apparently the town is cut in two. The Serbs have only half of it. The Muslims control the right bank. There are snipers more or less everywhere. For the time being it’s quiet, but there are offensives every night.”
“Did you tell Lionel?”
“They must have informed him. In any case we’re going to UN headquarters and we’ll review the situation there.”
The convoy drove slowly up a broad avenue with concrete buildings on either side. Several of them had been gutted by shells. The black streaks left by flames were visible on the facades. There were no pedestrians, and most of the handful of cars parked along the street had been torched. Among them they saw a peculiar vehicle, a sort of homemade tank, fashioned with sheets of metal screwed onto the body of a tractor. A huge blast from a mortar had put an end to the poor machine’s career. It lay tipped over across a side street.
“At the beginning of the war they built just about anything to defend themselves with. But none of it could stand up to the Serbian army.”
He didn’t specify who “they” were.
A bit farther along they entered an older neighborhood. The streets were cobbled and tram rails ran along the ground. The buildings on either side of the street were in an Austro-Hungarian style, with stone balconies and caryatids around the windows. Iron shutters indicated that all the shops were closed. It was as if the old buildings, too, had put on a makeshift coat of armor to protect themselves from the war.
Marc opened his window. He was listening out in the silence for the sharp crack of distant gunfire as it echoed along the facades.
The UNPROFOR detachment was billeted in the main post office building. Sandbags were piled on either side of the front door, which was guarded by a Pakistani peacekeeper. They parked the trucks on a little square planted with trees; in the center stood a decapitated statue.
They climbed out and felt awkward in this open space, in the middle of this ghost town.
“There’s a Frenchman in charge of the peacekeepers,” said Lionel. “I’ll go see if we can stay here today.”
“It’s only two o’clock,” said Alex. “We could drive a bit farther.”
Lionel didn’t bother to answer him. He was already walking toward the guard, and the others followed.
The sentry glanced distractedly at his papers and let them in.
In the big lobby of the former post office there was a bustle of activity that contrasted sharply with the unearthly quiet on the street. Soldiers moved busily around little desks set throughout the room. There was a high ceiling, heavy with stucco, and lit by massive bronze chandeliers. Hundreds of electric wires zigzagged throughout the hall. They were connected to the chandeliers, to the banisters on the grand staircase, they trailed out through windows that had been hastily walled up with breeze block. It looked like the back lot at some big-budget movie set. The men and women in uniform who were rushing around looked like extras about to walk onto the set.
“Wait for me here,” said Lionel. “I’ll try and find the section commander.”
Since the fight, he had been speaking like the boss again. He disappeared upstairs.
They just stood there, in the middle of the hall. No one paid them any attention. Alex spotted a sofa and some chairs that had been shoved into a corner and they went to sit down. That was when they noticed that Vauthier had disappeared. This was typical of him when they reached a town, so they didn’t think much of it.
There were some old magazines on a coffee table. They each took one and began reading. Most of them were military journals like Terre Magazine, Cols Bleus, or monographs from the French Army Communications Service. Maud didn’t find any of it very interesting but it was nice, all of a sudden, just to be sitting there quietly in an armchair and leafing through printed pages, looking at color illustrations and reading words in her own language.
When he came back down, Lionel found them silent and attentive. Next to him stood a tall jovial man in his fifties with a thick, graying beard. He was wearing fatigues, and clearly visible among his stripes as a lieutenant-colonel and the burgundy border of the medical units was a tricolor badge. He had an accent from the Béarn region and he cultivated his musketeer mannerisms.
“Ah, here are our adventurers!”
“May I introduce Dr. Argelos,” said Lionel. “He’s in charge of humanitarian work for the sector.”
“Zounds, don’t exaggerate, young man! There is not much humanitarian work in the sector. If that was all I did, I’d be on vacation. My primary job is to treat our own boys.”
They introduced themselves one after the other, shaking the doctor’s big solid fist. Lionel suddenly realized they were not all there.
“Where’s Vauthier?”
“He must’ve gone off to file his report,” grunted Marc.
“His report?” exclaimed the doctor with a big smile.
“He’s joking. He’ll be right back.”
“Ah, so that’s what you lot say when someone goes off to pee. Okay, follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”
They climbed up the grand stairway and started down an endless corridor. All the doors on either side had been removed because the big post office rooms had been div
ided up by plasterboard partitions. Now there were multiple narrow corridors giving onto the main one. The doctor took the second to the left and opened a door.
“My kingdom here below,” he said, leading them into a tiny office piled with documents and computers.
The room was lit by one half of a large picture window. A bullet hole was clearly visible on the glass, with a star against the shattered window all around it. On the wooden partition directly opposite, another hole of the same caliber indicated that the projectile had crossed the entire room.
“A 12.7,” said Alex, inspecting the hole.
“Upon my word, his nibs is an expert.”
“I served as a peacekeeper in the region for six months.”
“So you know the score. On the whole we don’t need to worry, but from time to time . . . Bang! Bang! All hell breaks loose and no one is safe.”
With a broad smile, the doctor pointed to a mattress underneath the desk.
“Fortunately, I was in bed.”
He wasn’t trying to frighten them, but rather to communicate his good humor and joie de vivre.
“The colonel told me you’re leaving again tomorrow already. It’s a pity. I have almost no company around here and there’s no lack of work. So where are you headed?”
“Kakanj.”
“Kakanj? Kakanj? That’s in the mountains between Sarajevo and Zenica, if I’m not mistaken?”
“That’s right.”
“Sakes alive, you’ve got a long way to go still! Why are you going there?”
“That’s where our association chose to send us,” said Lionel hastily; he didn’t want the two former soldiers to start going into detail.
“Well, they must have their reasons. I don’t always understand the orders I get either, now, do I? Armagnac or beer?”
While they had been talking, he had taken some bottles out of a drawer and was rummaging in the one below for some glasses.
“Beer will be fine,” said Alex. “We can drink from the bottle, don’t go to any trouble.”
“That’s just as well, because we’re short on glasses here, and anyway they’re usually pretty disgusting.”
He uncapped the beers with the handle of a fork.
“Right, the young lady can sleep here; I’ll go upstairs to the officers’ floor. Normally that’s where I should sleep but I prefer staying in my office. The rest of you can have the room next door. It belongs to a major from Bangladesh. He’s on leave but he gave me his key. Dinner is from seven o’clock on, up in the cafeteria on the fourth floor.”
“So what do we do in the meantime?” asked Marc.
He hadn’t spoken until now. The doctor turned and went closer to him.
“Let me see you in the light. Gosh, your face is mess. How did you do that?”
“It’s nothing, I fell.”
The doctor gave a knowing little laugh.
“You fell. And I’m the King of Siam. Right, it’s none of my business, but you’re going to come with me all the same so I can fix you up. You’ll need at least two stitches.”
Maud was observing Marc. He looked furious. But to her great surprise he meekly followed the doctor.
“If you want to walk around town while waiting for dinner, go right ahead. But I warn you: this is the only street that is safe.”
“I need to call France,” said Lionel.
“I know, the colonel told me. You can use this phone. There’s an operator. Ask for a line.”
“I think I’ll go back downstairs to the hall,” said Maud, who was stifling in the confined atmosphere of the little room.
Alex followed her and they sat on the sofa.
“Do you think Lionel is going to tell the bosses back at the association about the explosives?”
“I’d be surprised,” said Maud.
“And that idiot Vauthier, what’s he doing?”
“Why did Marc say he was filing his report?”
“Because he thinks he’s a cop. So do I, actually.”
“A cop?”
“Some guy they’ve sent along masquerading as an aid worker so he can check what’s going on in the country.”
“They do that?”
“Ah, you guys are really naïve, you aid workers! Of course they do that. How else would they get their secret agents into the country?”
“They could put them here, for example, among the peacekeepers.”
“They’ve probably done that, too. But the peacekeepers don’t move around, or if they do they’re in armored vehicles. The only ones who can go anywhere and talk to everyone are people like you.”
“And what makes you think Vauthier is an agent?”
“His history, for a start. Trying to come across as a former left-wing extremist. Yeah, right, a fascist more like. If he was an activist for anarchists, it was surely because he was already acting under orders.”
Alex must have sensed that his reasoning had not convinced Maud.
“Moreover, if he’s so mad at us, it’s probably because he knows we’ve seen right through him.”
Maud was looking askance at him, a sardonic gleam in her eye.
Out of ammunition, Alex added, in a peremptory tone not unlike the one Lionel adopted to impose his decisions:
“And besides, he just smells like a cop, that’s all.”
Maud shrugged and went on reading.
Alex had found some chewing gum. He offered her some, then said, “Have you known Lionel for long?”
She looked up from her magazine.
“How long have I known Lionel,” she echoed, coming to. “Um . . . since I started at La Tête d’Or. I worked three months as an unpaid volunteer before I left with the convoy. Why?”
“Just asking. He’s strange guy. He’s playing his cards close to his chest. He acts all tough but he’s really a softy.”
“Could be.”
“He’s in love with you, isn’t he?” added Alex with a laugh.
“In love with me! What makes you say that?”
“He was afraid we would sleep together. He had this whole theory and I had to put his mind at rest.”
Maud looked away. It was the sort of topic she hated. She suddenly felt reduced to the status of an object. She didn’t want to go there. She put an abrupt end to the conversation.
“That’s his problem,” she said, immersing herself in her magazine again.
Alex went on chewing his gum. Since she didn’t want to speak any more, he stretched out on the armchair and put his head back and stared at the ceiling.
Maud was pretending to read, but she couldn’t. She was thinking about what Alex had just told her. Lionel, in love with her? It could be, after all. Deep down she had come to the same conclusion, without formulating it so clearly. Now that she thought about it, it would explain quite a few things. In Lyon she had worked in a tiny office stacked high with files and documents, and she didn’t often have any reason to leave it. And yet somehow he was always underfoot. He had “taken her under his wing,” as he put it. She didn’t mind because in the beginning she didn’t know anyone. Particularly since he was very polite. He acted the older brother, without ever letting his feelings show.
He was the one who had insisted she join the convoy. She had seen it as a sign of friendship and trust, and she’d been grateful to him. But maybe he’d had an ulterior motive after all. And when she revealed the business about the explosives, the fact he’d agreed more readily than she expected to take the risk, perhaps that meant he’d done it to please her, so she wouldn’t be disappointed, to take up the challenge.
If he really was in love with her, it was not good news. Because she had no intention of playing any sort of game. She would have to be clever, tiptoe around him, perhaps even reject him outright if he confessed to her. It was the sort of thing she hated most
. The same old story: guys seeing her as their prey. She had thought she’d be far away from all that on a mission to a war zone, but in the end it was the same wherever you went.
She brooded, increasingly glum. The photographs of tanks and legionnaires in combat that filled the pages of the magazine were hardly likely to distract her from her dark thoughts. She stretched out in turn, and tried to doze off.
From time to time she could hear the muffled sound of a distant explosion. A bit later on, when she woke up, she wondered whether Marc had cried out when the doctor stitched his lip. She hoped he had. And she smiled.
Lionel came back down, and as there was no sign of either Marc or Vauthier, the three of them went on to dinner in the refectory. The huge room was full of soldiers in loungewear. They seemed to be making good use of the exercise benches set up in the long corridor on the third floor. Some of them, in spite of the chilly temperature, were wearing sleeveless T-shirts that emphasized their biceps. At the French tables, men and women mingled, whereas the Pakistanis and Bangladeshis dined among men, and gazed with shining eyes at all the women going in and out.
Just as Maud had thought, Lionel was very proud to announce he had passed on their reassuring news to headquarters, and that everything was going fine. As he said this, he shot her a glance, and she could read something else in it besides defiance. He was particularly talkative during the meal. He had not dared to smoke since they arrived in the UN buildings, and his gaze was sharper. At the same time, he must have been feeling the urge, because he was restless, and seemed to be in a hurry to go out on the town.
“I’ve been talking to a young kid from the battalion who was in the corridor working out. He told me there’s a fairly nice bar just down the street, with good music. D’you feel like going to check it out?”
“Sounds great. I’ll come,” said Alex.
But Lionel wasn’t interested in Alex’s opinion. He kept his eyes riveted on Maud, with a predatory smile that didn’t suit him at all. Like the orders he gave, his proposal—however confident the delivery—didn’t really hide his hesitation and shyness. Maud felt sorry for him, and at first she was tempted to accept. But then she had a fleeting vision of what would ensue. She would rather refuse right away than find herself stuck with him in the promiscuity of a bar and then have to humiliate him.
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