The song I used is Everything I own, by Bread (I know, old and weird).
There’s also a little Serbo-Croatian used, so I’ll just brief you on that.
First off, the title, “Dobar Hatar”, means “Goodbye Love”
“Te imati vratiti se nama” means ‘You have come back to us’
“Dogoditi se” is ‘Come along’ or something to that effect =)
and “Ja htijenje sjecati se” means ‘I will remember’.
Thank you to Kelly, who read and helped with the story in it’s sorry preliminary stages, and to Emily, whose encouragement keeps me writing. I’m not a huge fan of Luka, so if I made his character sound a little dorky, I apologize. And I think his English is a little better than the way I made it out to be, but I needed to differentiate between his speech and Carol’s at times.
Feeback is always hugely appreciated. Its your comments that help me figure out what I’m doing is right or not. So, a big thanks to all those who have sent me some. You are the sole reason I’m continuing this series.
Happy reading,
Sam
One Candle Burns – Part 6
Dobar, Hatar
~*~*~*~
... There's this place in me where your fingerprints still rest, your kisses still linger, and your whispers softly echo. It's the place where a part of you will forever be a part of me. ~Gretchen Kemp~
~*~*~*~
January 5th, 2000
________________________________________________________________________
Behind her, on the table, the candle was burning steadily, its flame low and centered in the melted, deformed white wax. It had been lit for so long now that it should have been nothing but a tiny puddle of wax in the flat, glass dish, but it was still intact, still sturdy and thick– not as tall as it was when first lit, but strangely preserved just the same. She could see the reflection of the flame in the window, it’s soft orange glow bathing her form in a gentle illumination.
Carol stared at the flickering reflection in the clear glass as she rocked steadily in the wooden chair. The snow fell outside in plump, heavy flakes, cloaking the brown, cold earth outside her window with a blanket of whiteness.
She sighed, shivering, and pulled the warm, sleeping infant closer, settling the tiny head in the crook of her arm. Stroking her daughter’s soft brown furls of hair, she began to hum quietly, trying desperately to put her troubled thoughts at ease. The baby’s lips parted in sleep, and Carol felt her warm breath through the thin material of her shirt.
She was restless. Troubled. Unsettled. All of her sadness, all of her grief, all of her turmoil and struggling, why she couldn’t grow comfortable with Luka, why she was still so lonely, why she had such mixed emotions about being a mother– it all coalesced into one rationality.
She couldn’t do it without Doug.
She couldn’t go on. She couldn’t get over him. As long and hard as she’d tried. As much as she’d pushed him out of her mind, as hard as she’d tried to force the sound of his laugh and the touch of his hand from her memory, she couldn’t do it.
Everyone had told her it would take time. She’d given it time. She’d given it almost a year. But every time she looked at her daughter’s faces, traced their delicate features with her finger– her heart would ache for him as strongly as it had a year ago.
She’d waited urgently for the sadness to cease. For the grief to alleviate. For the pain to yield. She’d tell herself time and time again, as would her friends and her mother, that it was time to move on.
And she was trying.
She simply couldn’t.
She couldn’t forget him.
________________________________________________________________________
~*~*~*~
You sheltered me from harm
Kept me warm, kept me warm
You gave my life to me
Set me free, Set me free
~*~*~*~
________________________________________________________________________
She was living in a sort of surrealism. Nothing seemed real. The two month old babies sleeping in the next room– they couldn’t be hers.... hers to care for, hers to protect. The emptiness in her chest, her hollow heart– that couldn’t really be her soul. That big bed in that big room, so empty at night, so void of the comfort and solace it’d once offered– that wasn’t her bed.
This wasn’t her life.
It seemed as though everything was suspended, expecting, waiting for something to happen, something to change. Waiting for the storm clouds to lift, for the rain to pass. Waiting for the ultimatum, waiting for the bough to break– for something to collapse, or to build itself back up. But nothing would move. Her life was stuck, halted in mid-swing.
It had been that way since the summer. An endless drawl of work and sleep and people and faces and traumas. Nothing really mattered. Nothing affected her. She knew she had withdrawn from her friends, from Mark and Elizabeth and her mother– but it was enough of a struggle to keep an enthusiastic smile on her face whenever they were around. She’d seen the grief counselor Mark had recommended for a few weeks, until the sessions began to draw out the emotions she’d so carefully filed away, and she concluded that the doctor wasn’t helping her any.
In the months leading up to the birth of the twins, Carol had grown tired of trying to ward off depression, and settled into it quite comfortably. It didn’t come in debilitating lows, like it had years ago. It was a sort of dwelling, a sadness that had ingrained itself into her being, and she carried it with a relented pride.
It became so that she was almost a shadow. A person, a nurse, a mother, a daughter, a friend-- but always only in the most subdued fraction of what she could have been. The energy, the fire in her eyes had died that night, a little less than a year ago, when the voice on the phone told her the tragic news. Her friends and family were slowly yielding to the fact that she’d never get that fire back.
She became an expert at putting on fronts. Happiness became a mask in the collection of counterfeit emotions she stored, and she could wear it when she wanted, or when others needed her to bear it.
The arrival of her children had alleviated the boredom she’d grown accustomed to, but it hadn’t really eased the loneliness. She loved her girls, undeniably, and delighted in being a mother, but they weren’t the companionship she longed for. Mark had been there for their eventful births, or Kate’s at least, and he’d even chosen her name. Tess was named for Doug. When the baby had been placed in Carol’s arms, the love and adoration she’d experienced had been phenomenal, for the baby, and for the man who’d created her. She’d loved him excruciatingly in that second, and in the grief that had confronted the new feeling of maternal adoration, she’d chosen the name Doug had wanted for a girl, even though she had previously decided against it.
They were a family, void one member. She tried her best to be a wonderful mother. She answered their every cry, wiped their tear stained cheeks with the gentlest of touches, played with them leisurely, and fed them carefully. But there was still something missing. It was the enthusiastic games of peek-a-boo he would have played with them. It was the tender way he would have soothed them to sleep. It was the way he would have chuckled at their rosy-cheeked, dimpled smiles. It was the absence of a father– of Doug.
They had their rhythms, their routines, their rituals. They were what anyone would deem a ‘normal’ single parent family. But Carol was so afraid that she wouldn’t be enough. That they’d grow up with a mother who was so devastated by the loss of their father that she couldn’t care for them adequately– like the way she had grown up. It created a sort of desperation– a yearning for a companion, a lover, someone who’d care for her and her children the way Doug would have. It was fabricated not out of her own loneliness, but from the desire to provide for her girls. She wanted to give them everything they needed.
And they needed a father.
This was where her confusion regarding Luka Kovac began.
She’d noticed him right away. Not an attraction, physically– although she was rather smitten by his dark, sad eyes– but a connection, a realization that he was like her. That he’d lost something so precious to him that no amount of searching could bring it back. That he was still searching for it.
She was drawn to the similarity of their situations. He looked about as sad and dejected as she felt.
He’d revealed snippets of himself to her as they became companions– that he was from Croatia, that he’d been in the war, that he’d had a family there. She was smart enough to put two-and-two together and realize why he appeared so devastated. She’d shared the surface reasons for her own remoteness, and they built a connection of simple friendship through the comfort that they weren’t alone. It was soothing, for Carol, to know that someone else was as lost as she was. She enjoyed his company, and though they knew little about each other, they didn’t bother delving deeper. The knowledge that war had taken away both of their families brought them close together, and offered some amount of solace.
They were close for one simple reason; he understood. Mark and Elizabeth– they’d been wonderful to Carol. They’d cared for her and been there for her, offered her advice, and kept her sane. They were her friends, and she loved them, but as hard as they tried, they had no idea what she felt. Luka did.
Luka knew.
He was good with her children, and she saw, when he held them, how dreadfully he missed his own. She was quite certain that if she offered any signs of interest, he’d readily accept a romantic relationship from her.
And what was wrong with that? Her children could have a wonderful father. Her house would be filled, as would the empty position in her family. Luka’s life would gain the purpose he was searching for.
But he was not their father. And the position didn’t belong to him. As much as she wanted to set her life right side up, and much as she tried to convince herself that she could care about him, she wasn’t sure if she could accept someone else. If she could allow another man to take Doug’s place.
She didn’t want anyone to take his place.
________________________________________________________________________
I would give anything I own,
Give up me life, my heart, my home
I would give everything I own,
Just to have you back again
________________________________________________________________________
If anything had changed with the arrival of the twins, it was that her house was a perpetual pig stye. Milk stained laundry lay in heaps by the washing machine, empty bottles stood at attention in the sink, and toys of every shape, size and colour littered the floor. It didn’t matter how many times she tidied up in the day, it always seemed to look the same.
After placing the peacefully dozing Tess in her crib, Carol descended the stairs to make another attempt at cleaning the kitchen. The sun had just risen, and the little room was filled with bright, yellow light. The twins had been up most of the night, both at different times, and Carol was exhausted. She hadn’t been able to decide what was worse– the insomnia she’d experienced for months after Doug’s death, or the long nights she now spent up with the babies. Either way, she hadn’t had a full night’s rest in a year.
Yawning, she turned on the faucet above the sink and began to fill the basin with dish soap. As the sink filled with water, she glanced out the window. It was still snowing.
The sound of the doorbell cut through the silence of the house and Carol abruptly shut off the water. Only her mother would be vexing enough to come knocking at six thirty in the morning.
Sighing, she ran a hand through her disheveled hair and opened the door.
Standing on the front porch, wearing a gentle smile and carrying a basket of muffins, was Sarah Ross.
“Sarah!” Carol exclaimed, throwing open the door and ushering the older woman out of the snow. “What are you doing up and about this early?”
“Oh, you know us old folks.” Sarah laughed lightly, stepping inside. “We’re up with the birds.”
Surprised to see Doug’s mother, Carol stood, simply looking at her for a moment. She had come to see the twins shortly after they were born, offering to ‘drop over and lend a helping hand’ whenever it was needed. Of course, Carol was much too proud to accept assistance from anyone, and only put up with it from her mother because Helen was even more stubborn than she was.
“It’s so good to see you,” she recovered quickly, taking the offered basket with a smile and clearing some of the debris off the table to put it down. “The girls are sleeping, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright, I’m just dropping by for a minute on my way into town. I didn’t expect them to be awake. I’ll just go and take a quick peek at them, if you don’t mind....?”
“No, no, go right ahead.” Carol waved her hand in the direction of the nursery, and with a grin, Sarah climbed the stairs to visit her only grandchildren.
Carol stayed behind a moment, gazing up as Mrs. Ross disappeared into the nursery. The woman was a softer, petite version of her son. She saw him in her in the most prominent ways– the twinkle in her eyes, the way her lips curled upwards, the sound of her soft, lilting laughter. He’d had her sharp wit, her keen eye, and her kind heart.
The resemblance was both a comfort and an anxious burden to Carol. It was so soothing to stand next to her, to feel as though she was near him in some way. But to see Sarah, see the similarities between mother and son– it made her miss him that much more.
The death of her only child had devastated her, and Carol had spoken with her a few times on the phone after it happened. The woman was greatly comforted by the knowledge that she was to have two grandchildren– two little beings who held the only pieces of her son that were left in the world.
“They’re so beautiful, Carol,” Sarah breathed, turning from Tess’ crib as Carol stepped into the doorway of the nursery.
“Mmm, thank you” She whispered, stepping up beside her and leaning over the crib to kiss the sleeping child’s ruddy cheek softly. “I think so too.”
Noticing something unfamiliar tucked under the child’s arm, Carol reached in and fingered the soft fabfic of a well-loved teddy bear. “What’s this...?”
“Oh...” Sarah blushed, her cheeks flooding a lovely shade of amber. “It– it was Doug’s. I thought they might like to have it.”
Carol nodded, still stroking the fine material of the bear. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched Tess’s tiny arms tighten around the old toy.
“They look a little like him, you know. They have his nose... and his eyes.”
Carol sighed quietly and nodded her head. “I know.” On this too, her emotions were conflicted. She was so happy to have his children, so grateful to have a way to hold him in her arms, a way to keep him near. She loved that they looked like him, that it was so evident that they were his babies. The fact that they were so obviously his children made her uneasy, though. She was afraid of what would happen when they grew to look like him, to act like him, to be like him. She was afraid that everytime she looked at her girls she’d be confronted with the terrible wave of longing that presented itself whenever she passed a hand over the material of his robe that still hung over the back of the door, or whenever someone mentioned his name at work.
Carol smiled lightly as Sarah placed a warm, gentle hand on her arm. She turned to Doug’s mother. “I’m making coffee. You’ll stay for a cup, won’t you?”
“Oh, I’m just stopping by for a minute. I didn’t want to disturb you.” They began to head for the doorway, as not to wake the sleeping children.
“No, no, you’re not. I’d appreciate the company.”
“You sure you don’t want to take a nap, now that they’re down?”
“Do I look that bad?” Carol smiled. “Nah, I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Please, come down and have some coffee.”
Sarah glanced into the crib again, then looked over Carol’s shoulder to the other sleeping infant on the other side of the nursery. “If you’re sure I’m not intruding.”
“Of course not.”
Sarah smiled and tilted her head to the side, considering the invitation. The mannerism was so like that of Doug’s that Carol felt a lump form in her throat.
“Maybe a cup of coffee would be nice.”
Carol nodded, and taking a deep breath, followed Sarah down the stairs to the kitchen.
~*~*~*~
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Ross smiled as Carol filled her mug with the dark, steaming liquid.
“No problem. You need sugar and creme?”
“Ah, no, I drink it black.”
Carol raised an eyebrow, grinning softly. “So did Doug.”
“He was never one to complicate things.” Sarah laughed.
“Hmmm...” Carol nodded lightly, remembering, and eased into a chair across the table from Doug’s mother. “I loved that about him... how he could turn something so tangled and perplexed into something so simple.” She sighed, smiling a little. “I think that’s why he was so good with children. They understood him... because... because he was so plainspoken. Y’know? He talked to them like he was their equal.”
Sarah nodded. “Doug was always like that. When his friends were out playing football, in highschool, he was down the street babysitting for the neighbors. He had a gift. He was a good doctor... those kids, they were lucky to have him.”
“He was a great doctor. Probably the best I’d ever worked with. I loved to work with him, he made my job easy. He had a respect for the nurses, too. He didn’t command us to do something– he asked. I don’t think he knew how much the nurses appreciated that.” Carol wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, letting it’s warmth seep into her skin and relishing it’s comforting heat. She spoke softly, her voice heavy with reflection and pensive wistfulness .
“Thoughtful, even as a boy” Mrs. Ross added in agreement. “And stubborn, Christ, was he stubborn!”
Carol smiled, staring into the dark swirling of her coffee. “I remember once, his first year at County, working on a trauma with him. We’d been dating for a few weeks, and... I was completely smitten. I was watching everything he did in that trauma room, every twitch, every frown. We were trying to save a little boy who’d fallen into the river– he’d been down for nearly half an hour, and he’d been underwater almost ten minutes before they pulled him out. Mark, who was an intern then, called the time of death. But... Doug refused to give up. He looked at me– and I just couldn’t say no to him. We worked for ten more minutes on that boy, just him and me, breathing for him, giving him CPR in silence. And that child opened his eyes. And he looked around, and he– he lived. He’s alive today because of Doug. Only because of Doug.”
“He certainly fulfilled his purpose in life.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well... He saved so many children. He made a difference in so many lives...”
Carol frowned slightly, biting her lip. “But what if his purpose was to have a family? What if his purpose was to be a father and a husband...? He never got to do that...”
“And what if his purpose was to give you a family?”
Carol swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to cry. She’d given up crying when she realized that it didn’t help anything. She’d come to the conclusion that tears were for healing, for mending broken hearts and filling empty souls. She figured that if her heart was still broken after so many tears, than it most likely wouldn’t mend at all. Crying was a waste of time and energy and emotion. Her life was beyond any means of repair.
Breathing deeply to lessen the wavering of her voice, Carol spoke softly. “I wanted a family with Doug. I wanted to have a baby that we could love and protect and care for– a baby that was just for us. I’d always imagined what it would be like to have a baby with Doug. I knew he’d be a wonderful father.” She sighed.
“He would have been, you’re right.” Sarah reached across the table, taking Carol’s hand in hers. “But you’re good to those babies. You’re a good mother, Carol. They’re going be alright. You’re going to be alright.”
Carol nodded, looking up to meet the older woman’s steady gaze. “I just wish–,”
“Its too late for wishing. I think you have to accept that this is the way it is.”
“I don’t want it to be this way.”
“I know. I know, dear. Neither do I. “Sarah smiled wistfully. “I miss my son.”
“I do too. I– I still do, I still miss him. I want to talk to him so much. I want to speak to him– to tell him about what the twins did, how they giggle, the way they play with each other. I want to tell him about my day, about Mark and Elizabeth, about the new doctors at County. I really miss talking to him. I...I miss his company.” She felt strange voicing her grief– she’d lived with it in solitary silence for so long. But suddenly there was another person who understood what it was like to lose him, to miss him, to know him, to know that he was gone, and to have to face that truth every single day. Just like she did. “I hate knowing that he’ll never get the chance to hold them. That he’ll never get to see them grow up. He should be here. He has the right to love his children.” Carol blinked, feeling her hand starting to tremble under Sarah’s. “He would have loved them.”
Doug’s mother nodded slowly, looking away from Carol and down at her coffee mug. “He would have, Carol. He would have adored those little girls.” Her voice was soft, and sad, but certain. “But... I suppose he was never meant to. He was never meant to hold them. Never meant to see them grow up. All he was meant to do was give them to you.”
“I don’t see how that can be true! I don’t understand how a man who loved children so much, who devoted his life to caring for them, should not be meant to care for his own! I don’t believe that would happen. I don’t believe that God could do such a terrible thing... I don’t...”
“Carol. You see terrible things all the time.”
“Yes– but, but not like this. Its so unfair. God is so...so unfair.” She was struggling, trying desperately to hold in the tears that stung her eyes ferociously. ‘She would not cry. She wouldn’t. Not now, not after so long. Crying didn’t solve anything. It didn’t fix a single thing.’
Sarah was shaking her head gently. “It may seem that way dear. But I think God is fair. Don’t you know how lucky you are?”
Carol furrowed her brow at this. Lucky? She couldn’t imagine how...
“You lost Doug– we all lost him. But he left you with something special. He left you with the most precious part of him– those little girls. He lives in them.... he’ll always live through them. God made it so that he’ll never really leave you. We’re lucky, Carol. My baby died. And these babies, you’re babies, are all I have left of him.”
Carol bit her lip as Sarah’s hand tightened around her own. She knew that what the older woman was saying was true. She understood it. But she’d never allowed herself to believe it.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Ross whispered. “Thank you for keeping him alive. Thank you for giving me these children.”
Gulping, Carol nodded, too overcome to speak, too afraid her voice would deceive her. Silence descended upon the little kitchen, as both women were lost in their memories.
“He loved you, Carol.” Sarah’s voice interrupted the quiet.
“I know,” the words were so faint they were barely audible.
“No.” She shook her head, knowing that Carol didn’t understand what she was trying to say. “He really loved you. He loved you more than anything in the world. He changed his life for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“He changed his life, his ways, he got cleaned up, he gave up everything he knew –all the horrid habits he’d learned from his father, he gave it all up so that you would respect him. Did you know that?”
Carol shook her head. “He changed after Nadine Wilks. He realized that his life was a mess. He changed because he needed too. It wasn’t for me.”
“It was for you.” Sarah blinked, tears leaving little wet trails of sincerity on her face. “He would have done anything for you. That night at the el, after Nadine Wilks died, when you turned him away, thats when he decided to change.”
“You knew about that?”
Sarah nodded. “Doug told me a lot of things, Carol. He was my only son. He’s the only family I had.” She sighed softly, running the pad of her finger over the gold ring on Carol’s ring finger, realizing, with a jolt of sadness, what it was. “He realized, that night, that you didn’t respect him. And that hurt him more than anything else– Mark’s disapproval, the guilt about Nadine– everything.”
“That isn’t true,” Carol shook her head fiercely, without lifting her gaze from their joined hands. She couldn’t look at Doug’s mother. She couldn’t sit there and watch her cry. “I always respected him. Always.”
“As a doctor, yes.” She left the rest unsaid. ‘As a person..... maybe not.’ “You are the reason his last years were the happiest of his life. You were his grace, his angel. You were his life. And I... I think he would have wanted you to know that.”
Carol shook her head, her eyes shut firmly, her lips pursed, anger and regret flowing through her abundantly. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I miss him, God, I miss him!” It was a plea. A harrowing, angry supplication. “Why did he have to go to Kosovo? Why did he have to get arrested by the Serbs? Why’d he have to die? Why him? Why him?”
“Honey, listen to me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to realize that things aren’t as bad as they seem. You aren’t alone. I know you feel like that, but you have to know that you aren’t. I know you’re angry. I know you’re confused– and I am too. I don’t know why he was taken away from us, but he was. And we just have to know that it wasn’t for nothing.”
“I loved him, Sarah. I didn’t even realize how much I did until he was... until he was gone. I’ll never love anybody like I loved him. I wasn’t ready to let go of that. I wasn’t ready to lose him.”
“Would you have ever been ready?” It was not really a question, for they both knew the answer. “You have to be grateful for the time you had with him.”
“It wasn’t enough time. I wasn’t finished loving him.”
“It has to be enough time. You don’t have a choice. But you can still miss him. You just can’t stop living your life because his is over.”
“I don’t know if I can, Sarah. I don’t know if I can get through this.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“You’re a strong woman, Carol. We are strong woman. We can get through anything.” Sarah smiled, passing a hand over her wet face. “If the situation was reversed, would you want Doug to go on with his life?”
“Of course,” she said, almost bitterly, knowing what Sarah would say.
“Then why shouldn’t you?”
“Its not that I think I shouldn’t.. I just.... I just want...” Carol took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair to push it away from her face. “I think I’m afraid that I’ll forget him.”
“You won’t.”
“I know. Maybe that’s not it. Maybe, I dunno... I”m just....crazy.”
“You’re not, dear. I know what it’s like. Every time Ray left me and Doug, every single time I would tell myself to get over him. To move on. To forget about him, that he wasn’t worth it. And every single time I would pray to God to bring him back. And every time he did came back I would kiss him, and I would forgive him, and I would let him back into my life, even though I knew that it wasn’t good for me or my son.”
“... Its not the same. Doug didn’t have a choice.”
“It is the same, because I didn’t want to move on. I was in love with him. It’s the same for you.”
“What did you do? When did you... when did you finally let him go?”
“When I realized that loving him was hurting my family. It was hurting Doug. It was hurting me. I loved Doug more than I loved Ray... more than I loved myself. The next time that Ray came back, the locks had been changed, and I didn’t let him in.” Sarah sighed, the lines on her face deepening with her frown, her eyes baring her pain. “You don’t have to forget him, Carol. You don’t have to stop loving him. You just have to stop thinking that you need him to survive.”
Carol nodded, slowly. Doug’s mother was wise. She knew it. Doug had known it, too. He’d spoken to his mother many long evenings on the phone, and she’d never once heard him berate her. “I wish things were different. I wish he was still here. I wish... I wish I could get over this. I want to be able to enjoy my babies without feeling guilty that I get to have them and he doesn’t. I want my life back. ”
“You’ll have it, Carol. You’ll make a life with your daughters– a good life. Give it time.” Suddenly, Sarah pulled her hand away, and stood up. “Gosh, I never meant to take up this much of your time.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she’d extracted from her pocket. “And I certainly never meant to get into this today... I’m sorry, I bet I ruined your day.”
“No, no, Sarah...” Carol jumped up, placing a hand on her arm. “You’ve been such a tremendous help. You have no idea what this means to me... I feel better. I really do.”
Sarah smiled softly then, pulling the young mother into her arms. “You’re a wonderful woman Carol. I can see why he loved you like he did.”
“Thank you....” Carol choked. “Thank you so much.”
And there, in the arms of the mother of the man she loved, and the man she lost, Carol made a decision. She would begin to live her life. She would climb over the hurdle. She would change the locks.
“Sarah...?” Carol asked, pulling away to look at the woman’s kind, sympathetic face. “Would you like to keep Tess and Kate for a few days?”
Sarah’s face instantly lit up with delight, and she knew her answer.
She knew what she had to do.
________________________________________________________________________
You taught me how to love,
What its of, what its of
You never said too much,
But still you showed the way
________________________________________________________________________
“I’m going to Kosovo. Will you come with me?”
She’d thought about it. Fleetingly. When she first learned of his death.... when she found out she was having twins.... on those lonely nights before the they were born.... after she’d delivered. It would be a way for her to finally bring closure to his death. It would be a way for her to see what he saw his last days, to be near him one last time.
But getting on a plane and flying to the middle east was never something she seriously considered doing.
And yet, she did make that phone call. And Luka answered. And she asked that rediculous question. And after some convincing, he’d agreed to accompany her.
She was going to Kosovo. It was what she needed to move on with her life. She was going to get some kind of closure– because she needed it.
And so did he.
When Carol had decided that she was going to make the trip, she’d automatically figured she would go alone. But after considering it, and after Sarah had informed her that it could be dangerous for a young woman to travel so far all alone, she realized that perhaps Luka would benefit from her excursion as well.
They would land in Vukovar, Croatia so that he could visit the graves of his late wife and children, then take another flight to the site in Kosovo where the fire had been.
He’d been very against the idea at first. But she was persistent, and eventually he agreed, only because he didn’t want her to have to go alone.
But the knowledge that the trip would be as good for him as it was for consoled her. She wasn’t forcing him to be her fearless guide– she was helping him.
The trip would definitely help him.
Carol went over these thoughts, these rationales, as the vast waters of the Atlantic ocean passed beneath their feet. The plane was trembling slightly with mild turbulence, and looking over to the seat beside her, she could see Luka’s white knuckled death-lock on the armrests.
“Luka?”
“Hmm?” He turned to look at her, his face white, his lips pursed.
“You ok?”
“Yes. I am fine.”
“Are you sure? You don’t look so hot.”
“I am not a fan of airplanes.”
“Oh. Well, we’ll be landing soon.”
“You are thinking that 5 hours is soon?”
Carol shrugged, smiling a little. “Soon enough.” She reached out to pat his hand lightly. “Don’t worry. You’re far more likely to get into an accident in a car than on a plane.”
“And that should make me feel better?”
“Until you climb into your car, yes.”
Luka rolled his eyes and murmured something in Croatian.
“What was that?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Ah, nothing.” He chuckled softly. “I was just noting how helpful you are to a.... a... person who is afraid of flying.”
Carol shrugged, smirking sarcastically. “I’m trying to make you feel better. Honest.”
“Of course you are.” He nodded, the corners of his mouth hinting upwards, and they went back to sitting it silence, watching the cartoon figures race across the little TV screens above the heads of every fourth passenger.
“Luka....?” She asked again, after a few moments.
“Yes?”
“Do you know any Serbian?”
He smiled at this. “Croatian and Serbian are basically the same language.”
Carol frowned, furrowing her brow slightly. “Then why do they have different names?”
“They are written differently. The Serbs use the Cyrillic script, while Croatian is written in Latin script.”
“Oh. Alright.” She nodded. “But.... then why don’t they all use the same script and call it the same language?”
He laughed, his grip on the arm rests loosening. “I don’t know, Carol. Why don’t you ask Milosevic?”
A shadow passed over her face at the mention of the dictator’s name. He was the reason Doug had gone to Kosovo. He was the reason he was dead.
Biting her lip, Carol pasted a smile on her lips. “I would ask him. You know where he lives? Maybe we can stop by on our way through.” She looked to his lap, where his hands were casually folded. “See? I did help you relax.”
“Am I supposed to thank you?”
“That would be nice, yes.”
“Thank you, Carol.”
“You’re welcome,” she cooed sweetly, turning away from him to look out the window.
The vast ocean of blue water was still rolling by silently under their feet, the plane was still bouncing mildly, and their section was beginning to smell like overcooked fish.
Carol leaned back in the seat and sighed shakily, the impending events weighing heavily on her shoulders.
________________________________________________________________________
The rest of the flight was uneventful. Carol had managed to fall asleep for a little more than an hour, awaking to find the plane was landing. They touched down in Vukovar National Airport at 6 am Croatian time, in unfittingly warm, sunny weather.
“I think I’m overdressed.” She noted as they walked down the terminal, their duffel bags slung over their shoulders.
“Perhaps we both are,” Luka nodded, looking down at their jeans and sweaters. “I’d almost forgotten that it isn’t quite so... cold in Croatia.”
“Yeah...” Carol smiled softly as they entered the loby, looking around. “You didn’t bring any other luggage, right?”
“No. Only this.”
“Right. Good. You wanna rent a car?”
“Sure. A red one.”
“Why red?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. I have never had a red car.”
“Whatever you want,”Carol shrugged with a chuckle as they neared the car rental desk. She rang the little bell and they waited in silence for someone to come to the desk. “Does it feel good to be back?” She asked after a moment.
Luka furrowed his brow, licking his lips thoughtfully. “I am not sure yet.”
~*~*~*~
“You know any good places to go for breakfast?” Carol asked, adjusting her sunglasses on the top of her head. Since they were still on Chicago time, and in Chicago it would have been dinner time instead of early morning, they’d decided to eat before going to the cemetery.
“There is a diner over by the hotel. We can go there if you like.” Luka motioned to the left with one hand, the other clasped loosely around the steering wheel.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
They drove in amiable silence down the paved rode in their little red Chrystler, the radio turned down low. The little shops and apartments that lined the streets seemed humbly inviting and comfortable.
“They rebuilt this part of town, after the war,” Luka told her softly, his eyes still glued to the road.
“Its pretty.”
“Yes, it is, now. But a few years ago, after the war...after the bombings, there was barely anything left of it. All these buildings, all these houses... they were all destroyed. They had to be completely rebuilt.” His voice held a distinct trace of bitterness as he reflected– what his city once was, what had happened to it, and what was left of it.
“Thats awful, Luka.” She tried to picture the quaint little shops and restaurants and houses lying in piles of rubble on the ground. The thought sent shivers up her spine.
He nodded and reached out to turn on the air conditioner.
“They seem alright now.”
“Perhaps they are alright.” He was quiet for a moment, staring ahead at some invisible landmark. “But probably not. Many of these people have lost everything. Their homes, their businesses. Their families. They are trying to move on. But it is difficult, after something like that. It is difficult to start your life over again.”
Carol nodded, her voice soft. “I know.”
“Everything was ruined in the war. Their lives were destroyed.”
His life had been destroyed.
“Is that why you moved to Chicago?” She asked, biting her lip, hoping she wasn’t prying. “Because of the... devastation?”
Luka shook his head softly, turning, for the first time, to look at her. “No. Not really.” He sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they stopped at a light. “I would have liked to help my people rebuild this city. Perhaps I should have stayed to help...”
He trailed off, and neither he nor Carol said anything for a long while. She didn’t want to press him, knowing how draining it was to have to talk about such subjects when you weren’t ready to. Yet, she was curious. About him, about his life, about his family. She knew so little about him, yet here they were, in a country she knew nothing about, driving down the road in a little red car. She wasn’t afraid of him, wasn’t worried about being alone with him– not in the least. It just seemed slightly odd that she would be sitting there, beside him, preparing to make the hardest journey she ever had, and ever would. And getting ready to help him in doing the same. She knew what courage it took for him to return to the middle east with her.
And she was grateful for it. She was grateful for his company, his support. But mostly, she was grateful for his understanding.
“Its funny... but Vukovar doesn’t seem all that different from Chicago,” Carol noted as she watched a woman pushing a baby carriage down the sidewalk, a small boy with a head of messy, dark hair skipping along beside her.
“This is funny?” Luka furrowed his brow slightly, glancing at her.
“Not like, ‘ha, ha’ funny,” she laughed lightly, shifting to rest her head in her hand, her arm propped up against the car door. “I mean... I just didn’t expect Croatia to be so...” She paused, trying to find the right word.
“Normal?”
“Well... yeah, sort of.”
“Did you think that we walk around in long robes and turbans and live in clay huts?”
Carol grinned sheepishly. “No. I...I don’t know what I thought.”
“In some parts of Yugoslavia– the agricultural and rural areas– they do still live like that. But not as drastically as most American’s picture it. We are civilized, you know.”
“Yes, I knew that. But... they’re such different cultures, I think I just expected the differences to be more apparent.”
“America and Croatia are different,” Luka agreed, smiling. “But not that different. I see that very clearly, having been a doctor in both Vukovar and Chicago. All people react to pain the same way, react to death the same way. All people want to live peacfully. People are people. Life is life. Death is death. It doesn’t change with geographical location.”
Carol smiled back. “Life is life,” she agreed, nodding slowly.
“Look, we are here.”
She glanced out the window to see a small diner, built with bricks of rich, red clay. A big sign on the roof of the small building read “Izbosti i Vilica”
“What does that mean?”
“Knife and Fork,” he told her, grinning.
She smiled, climbing out of the car. “Do they speak english?”
“I don’t think so. They will in the bigger restaurants, but not here, I am quite sure.”
“You’ll have to help me out, then.” She grinned. “My Croatian’s a little rusty.”
“Not a problem,” he held the door for her as stepped into the small, noisy eatery.
Immediately, they were greated with surprised, jubilant cries, and a lady and man were running out from behind the counter to greet them.
“Luka, Luka!” The woman took his face in her hands, leaning in to touch her nose with his. She was an older lady, her dark gray hair pulled up into a net, her simple brown and white dress fitting a little snuggly around her full, buxom figure. “Te imati vratiti se nama,” she exclaimed, smiling broadly, the corners of her eyes crinkling upwards in delight. The man, who was obviously her husband, placed a hand on Luka’s shoulder, his quiet joy apparent in his glistening eyes.
Carol hung back, almost shocked at the display of outward rejoicing.
The woman released her grasp on a grinning Luka after embracing him happily, and moved towards Carol. “Dogoditi se,” she told her, placing a warm, welcoming hand on her back and ushering her inside.
They were seated in a booth in the far corner of the little restaurant, after the man and woman, who Luka explained were the owners of the diner, were finished gushing over him.
“Wow,” Carol raised her eyebrows when they were alone. “They sure love you around here.”
Luka laughed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “They are old friends of the family. The woman is Andjela. She was my mother’s best friend. She and her husband Avram have owned this place since before I was born. I used to come here with my family as a child.”
“Ah. That would explain why they greeted you like the King of England.”
He laughed again. “They are very affectionate people. It is good to see them. I am glad that they are alright. That they have repaired the diner.”
Carol smiled as he beamed, and opened the menu that had been placed in front of her. “Yikes. This is all in Croatian.”
“Yes, it is. They do not speak any English.”
“Well, what’s good on the menu?”
“Are you looking for a breakfast food or a dinner food?”
“Hmm. Breakfast, I think. The rest of my body thinks its evening, I can at least have my stomach fooled.”
“Andjela’s waffles are very good. Or... you can opt for eggs with toast and... ah...I do not remember how to say in English...”
“Jelly?”
“No. It is... um... fried morsals of pig.”
“Bacon.” She laughed.
“That is it. Bacon.”
“What are you having?”
“Ah... waffles.”
“Alright. I’ll have that too. Oh, and coffee. They have that right?”
“Yes,” he grinned. “They have coffee.”
Luka ordered for them, and a few moments later two plates of steaming waffles, two ceramic mugs of coffee and a pitcher of syrup were placed in front of them. They dug in right away, having eaten only bad plane food and packaged peanuts in the last 12 hours.
“Do you want to get some flowers before we go to the cemetery?” Carol asked quietly, after they’d finished their waffles and were beginning to work at the warm coffee.
Luka nodded, looking over to the long counter at Andjela and Avram. “That would be nice.” His voice was soft, and held a hint of sadness. “Danijela loved roses– the ones with the white petals. I think I would like to get her some.”
“Alright.” Carol nodded, bringing her mug to her mouth, feeling the warmth of the ceramic mug against her lips.
________________________________________________________________________
She’d always found it strange how lovely most cemeteries were when the sun was shining. How such a sad, dismal place could be so beautiful. So deceiving.
The cemetery in Vukovar was no different. Huge, magnificent willow trees stood along a pebbly, white-stoned path winding up through the neatly-kept headstones, their delicate branches flowing from the trunk to provide an umbrella of shade. Bouquets and planted flowers dotted the fields of graves, little patches of red and blue and orange and yellow decorating the browns and greens of the earth.
The wind was blowing fiercely, causing the willow branches to swing and dance in the air, and making Carol’s hair whip around her face. She reached up to capture the mass of dark curls and secured them with an elastic from around her wrist.
“Its lovely,” she told Luka, looking up at him. He’d been gazing ahead at the acres of gravestones, his eyes unfocused, staring at something she couldn’t see. He held a bundle of flowers under his arm– perfect white roses with petals full and fresh and moist with dew.
He agreed with a nod, tearing his gaze away from the expanse of the graveyard as they began to make their way up the path. “It is prettier than I remember it.” He sighed so softly she almost didn’t hear it. “The last time I was here was for the burials. It was raining then.”
His drew his lips into a thin line, his eyes dark and dull. In his face she saw his turmoil, his dread, his trepidation– all the feelings he would never voice, never express. She saw the courage in his hardened heart and wished for a fraction of his strength.
“There,” he said suddenly, pointing. “The white one under the tree.”
Carol followed his gaze, seeing a long white marbel headstone sitting directly under one of the willow trees.
He started to head towards it, treading on the soft grass, but she hung back, taking only a few steps off of the stony path. She didn’t want to crowd him if he wanted to be alone.
But Luka turned around when he reached the headstone, noticing that she wasn’t behind him. He motioned for her to come beside him as he hunched down to examine the stones.
“Come, it’s alright.”
She stepped up slowly, feeling her breath catch in her throat as she saw the gold script on the headstones.
Luka reached out, tracing the names written on the marble with his finger. He traced the first name slowly, his eyes cloudy. “This is my wife,” he told Carol, looking up at her, squinting from the bright sun. She leaned in to read the name. ‘Danjiela Kovach, 1968- 1997'.
“My children are buried beside her,” his fingers brushed over their names on the headstone. ‘Jesna Kovac, 1990-1997' ‘Marko Kovac, 1992-1997'. And then his hand trailed further over the cold, white marble, coming to rest on the gold script spelling out the name ‘Luka Kovac’. Under his name, the date ‘1963-' stood, all alone. “This is where I will be buried.”
“It’s a beautiful marker,” Carol supplied quietly, unable to think of anything else to say. He nodded softly, his hand falling back to his side. He took the bouquet of roses then, plucking one from the bunch before laying the rest on the warm, rich, green grass in front of the grave. He held one pristine, white petal between his finger and thumb, feeling its velvety softness.
“Danjiela, dragana...” He bowed his head as the Croatian words slipped from his lips. He was very quiet for a moment. The air was still and heavy, the dewy cry of a bird coming from the grove of willow trees interrupting the silence.
Carol watched, taking a small step back, as a small tear rolled down the doctor’s sullen face. She felt her throat constrict, quietly knowing his pain.
“Ja htijenje sjecati se.” His voice was barely above a whisper, heavy with grief and sadness. He stood up then, his head still bent, his eyes closed lightly. “Dobar, hatar.” His last words were so soft she didn’t hear them– only saw his lips form the gentle syllables.
He took a small step back from the grave. Carol reached out and placed a hand on his arm, wanting to comfort him.
Passing a hand over his eyes quickly, Luka turned to her, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He handed her the single rose he’d plucked from the bouquet.
“I... Luka...” her voice was small, confused.
“For Kosovo,” he explained, still holding the flower before her.
“I can get some more...”
He shook his head. “Please.”
She nodded, not quite understanding his need for her to take the rose, but complying just the same.
He smiled again as she took the flower from him, and offered her his arm.
Carol hooked her arm gently through his, and they started down the path again.
“It is a beautiful day,” he told her softly, glancing up at the clear blue sky with a small sigh as the sun beat down the them, warming their shoulders and faces and hair.
________________________________________________________________________
Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.
-Matthew 5:4
________________________________________________________________________
“Do you want to see the way it is, Carol?” They were back in the Chrysler again, on the way to the hotel, when Luka asked her this.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean... do you want to see what happened to Vukovar during the war? What really happened, what the city looked like when it was over.”
“How would I see that?” she asked, puzzled by his question.
“I... I can take you to the older side of town. Where they haven’t started rebuilding... where they’ve evacuated.”
“Oh, Luka... that’s alright. I don’t need to see it. I can imagine.” She wanted to see, though. She wanted to see what Doug had seen. She wanted to understand why he’d felt so strongly about going to help in the Middle East. She wanted to know what he’d died for. And she was quite sure that Luka knew she did, and that was why he was asking. But she wouldn’t put him through that. She wouldn’t make him remember the most terrible time in his life.
“I will take you there, Carol. It is no trouble. I would like to see the area myself. I haven’t been there in a very long time... I can hardly remember what it looks like.” He was lying. Not a day went by when the images of the fallen buildings and ruined villages didn’t haunt his dreams.
“Really, its ok. Let’s just go to the hotel, get a couple of rooms, relax before the flight tomorrow. Really, Luka. Its fine. We don’t have to go there.”
“I want to show you. I want you to see what they’ve done to my country.”
“Luka...”
“Let me show you.”
Carol sighed, staring at her lap. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
“I am sure.”
Ten minutes later, the buildings went from neatly repaired to lying in ruins. She was shocked at the abruptness of the boundary– it was like they’d stepped into a different world. One minute they were driving down a street of suburban apartment complexes, the next they were rolling down the dirt road of a war-torn country. The buildings were falling apart– bricks lying on the street, on the side of the street, everywhere. Gaping holes in their structures were widely apparent, and that was only the houses that were standing. Most were lying in piles of rubble and scrap wood and bricks, only the chimney’s standing in the center of it all. The tattered, bruised homes seemed to weep and moan, as if in pain, crying out to the little red Chrysler passing before them.
Everything was submerged in an eerly kind of quiet, all life was stilled in the little village, the only movement being their car travelling slowly down the pebbly road, and the ghosts that haunted the ghastly dead street, screaming of death.
Carol shivered in her seat, floored by the devastation. She imagined her street in Chicago, her house, lying in ruins like these homes were. And these were people’s homes, too. Innocent people. Innocent families. Families who had to evacuate their homes because they were being taken away. And other families who were killed because they didn’t know to evacuate.
Luka’s family being one of them.
She saw it clearer than she’d ever thought possible, gazing out the window on that sunny day in Vukovar. She saw the devastation, the destruction, the death, the suffering, the pain. She saw what Doug had seen She understood why he’d felt so strongly about becoming a missionary out in the Balkans.
She knew what he’d died for.
He’d died for those families. He’d died for evil. He’d died for hate. He’d died trying to reverse the affects of war. He’d died trying to stop... this. This repulsion.
This abomination.
________________________________________________________________________
“I don’t know about you, but this jet lag’s catching up to me. My body thinks it’s the middle of the night.” Carol yawned as she turned her key into the lock of her hotel room.
“You never get used to jet lag. It is... how do you say...? A bitch?”
“Yeah,” she laughed. “You could say that.”
The door swung open and she turned to grin at him. “You wanna come in? Order a little room service...? I’m too tired to go downstairs for dinner.”
“I... um,” He offered her a small smile, his eyes brightening a little. “I should probably just head to my room .”
“You sure? I think there’s–,” she stuck her head into the room, then pulled it back out. “Yep, there’s a little table in there. We could get something to eat, maybe... talk a little.”
Luka shrugged, chuckling a little. “Alright. I am not quite ready to go to bed yet anyway.”
He followed Carol into the small room. As she’d said, there was a small table by the window, with a chair on either side of it and a plant in the middle. A double bed stood on the other side of the room, it’s fading floral print comforter in need of some fabric softener.
“Its... nice,” she concluded, walking into the bathroom to find a little basket containing the signature hotet items– a little bar of soap, a packet of shampoo, a bottle of hand cream .
“Just like home,” Luka agreed, sitting himself in one of the table chairs and setting his duffel bag beside him on the floor.
“Home?” she asked with a grin, coming out of the bathroom and easing herself into the other table chair. “Luka, you live in a boat.”
“True,” he nodded. “But I think it would be interesting to live in a hotel.”
“Well... I guess it might. You could, y’know, live off of room service... have free access to the gym and the pool...” She laughed, leaning back in the chair and slipping off her shoes under the table.
“Speaking of room service...” he picked up a little menu from the table centre, flipping it open. “What are we ordering?”
“I’m not all that hungry... maybe just some sandwiches. You ok with that?”
“That is fine with me.”
They dialed the phone number on the menu and Luka ordered their dinner.
“They will be bringing them up shortly,” he told her, setting the phone back into it’s cradle.
“That’s good.” Carol smiled, a little absently, glancing out the window adjacent to their little table.
“Are you thinking about the flight tomorrow morning?”
She shifted in her seat, reaching out to brush the soft green leaves of the table plant with the tips of her fingers. “A little, I guess...”
He nodded softly. “I am afraid I know very little about Kosovo. I don’t know where to go... or where the hotels and restaurants are...”
“Oh, I know that, Luka. I’m not worried. We’ll find an information booth or something. There have to be some maps lying around somewhere.”
Luka shook his head, his lips pursed into a thoughtful, bow-shaped pout. “But I do not know where it is... this site, the site of the fire you have told me about.”
“It’s a jail... a burnt down jail.”
“So we are to ask where to find a burnt down jail? I am not sure they will know.”
“How many can there be?” She shrugged, unconcerned. Someone would know where she wanted to go, and someone would know how to get her there.
“I am not sure. But I do know that the jail was probably not out in the open. If they were taking arrested American medics, it was most likely a... a secret operation.”
Carol offered a smile, hoping to reassure him. “Right, well, we’ll find it.”
“We had better find it,” he said, the corners of his lips hinting upwards. “That is why we came here, after all.”
She nodded slowly, his remark and the events of the day suddenly playing over in her mind. “Thank you, Luka,” she said quietly, after a moment.
“For what?”
“For bringing me to the... the ruined village. I needed to know... and I had no idea. I mean– I did, I did know... but not really,” She fumbled the words, smiling as she realized that she was stuttering.
“It is fine, Carol. I understand. I wanted to show you that.” He was starring down at the table top where his hands were folded. He sighed deeply, speaking pensively. “I wish they would rebuild out there. It used to be so beautiful. But... I know they cannot. There is too much damage, too much destruction.”
“They’ve done a wonderful job of rebuilding the newer part of town...” She offered, chastising herself for not knowing what to say to him. She’d been through it so many times with others, wishing desperately for them to say the right things, and here she was, in their very position, just as clueless as they had been.
Luka nodded lightly, slowly wringing his hands. “I wish I could have stayed to help them. To help rebuilt my city. I should have.” He looked up then, dark eyes glistening in deep pools of guilt and regret and pain. “But I could not. I could not stay. There are too many memories in this town. To many places and people that remind me of my family. I had to start again.”
“Did it work?” Her voice was gentle and small, but she held his gaze, unfaltering. “Moving and changing and starting again– did it help you... forget?”
“You never forget.” He turned away from her to look out the window. From their 7th floor room, much of the city was visible. Just beyong the neat rows of houses and buildings, a place of great ruin could be seen– a dark, lonely shadow of the rebuilt city. “It is not possible to forget what was your whole life. I wake up everyday and the first thing I think about is my wife. I lay my head on my pillow every night and the last thing I think about is my children.” He shook his head softly. “Moving to Chicago has helped, I am sure of it. But it has not taken away my memories.”
“Is that such a bad thing? Do you really want to forget them?” Carol asked lightly. “I think I’d go crazy if I didn’t have any memories of Doug. If I couldn’t sit down and just remember him– the way he was, the way he spoke, the way he laughed. I rely on those memories. I would never want to forget him.”
“I don’t want to forget them. I want to forget what happened to them. I want to forget the sound of the air bomber flying over my house. I want to forget the sound of the bomb falling through the air and exploding in the middle of our street.” His breath was coming quickly, his chest rising and falling as the air was forced into his lungs. “I want to forget the sound of my wife’s cries as she bled to death... I want to forget how it felt to sit there unable to do anything but listen to them.” He closed his eyes briefly, as if he could see the scene unfolding behind his eyelids.
“Luka...I... I’m...” she stammered, stunned at his blatant emotion. She realized, in that instant, what his life had been like, how hard it had been for him. He’d lost more than his family. He’d lost his whole life.
He opened his eyes slowly, and when he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse, and she had to strain to hear him. “I wish I could remember my wife like she was before the war– happy and passionate and loving and beautiful. But when I close my eyes, all I see is the way she looked the last moments of her life– her clothes stained with blood, her face twisted with pain.”
“Do you miss her a lot?” She asked softly, surprised to find her own voice choked with tears.
Luka nodded. “I miss her always. Every moment, everyday. But it is better, now. It is better than before... but I still miss her.”
“I guess it never goes away. Never really.”
“No. I do not think it does.”
“I wish it did.”
“So do I.” He nodded, his head heavy.
“What was she like, your wife?”
A bittersweet smile fluttered across his lips. “She was an artist– a painter. She made the most beautiful pictures– sunsets and gardens and forests. She had such a talent. The loveliest paintings were the ones she did during the war. It was as if she wanted to be in those gardens so badly that she thought if she painted them well enough, she had only to step through them to escape Vukovar’s reality. I wish I could have kept just one picture. Just one sunset, one garden, one of her masterpieces. But they were all destroyed in the bombing.” He sighed sadly, thinking of how to describe his late wife. “She was very beautiful... though, not in the way most Americans perceive beauty. Her hair was dark and soft and long... and she wore it in a braid most of the time. And her voice– she could sing like a bird, so soft and sweet and clear. She was not as thin as you... but she was pretty. And passionate... oh... she could light up the room with her smile. But she could turn the house upside down when she was in a foul mood.” He laughed softly, and Carol smiled at him from across the table.
“She sounds wonderful.”
He nodded, his smile fading. “She was.”
A sudden knocking caused the both to sit up and spin around to face the door. “Soba sluzenje!” A voice from the other side called out.
“It is our dinner,” Luka told her, as he stood from his chair and started for the door. He returned carrying a small tray with two plates of sandwiches and two cups of coffee, and set it on the table.
“You’re a regular busboy,” Carol smiled.
“A what?” He asked, his brow furrowing as he sat down.
“Nevermind,” she laughed, picking up her sandwich and taking a bite. “Ugh, what is this?” She made a face, lifting the top piece of bread to find a slab of beef slathered in ketchup.
“Ah, I think that is mine,” Luka grinned, peering at the turkey and mustard sandwich in front of him.
They switched plates.
“So what about you, your... Doug...?” He asked suddenly, between mouthfuls.
Carol smiled. “My Doug?”
“Yes. I’ve told you about Danjiela. I’d like to know about this fellow. He’s very respected at the hospital. Everone has marvelous things to say about him.”
She almost laughed. “It wasn’t always like that. Hell, I bet if he wasn’t dead, people would tell you he was a real hothead.”
Luka frowned, putting down his dinner. “He was not a good doctor?”
“Oh, no, he was a wonderful doctor. A lot of people had trouble seeing that, though. He was very... spontaneous. He did things without completely thinking them through, I guess. But everything he did was for the good of his patients. He put them first. He loved those kids– every one of them. He wanted to do what was right for them, and he wouldn’t let anything, or anyone stop him.” She smiled. “Some people had problems with that. He wasn’t such a great rule-follower. Didn’t get along too well with Kerry... and he and Mark had problems at work, although they were good friends.”
“I have to admit, I was under the impression that you and Mark were together when I first came to County.”
She nearly spit out her coffee. “Me and Mark? God, no! I mean... I love him, he’s great, he’s my best friend... and he’s saved my sanity more than once, but that’s where it ends.” Carol laughed. “He’s really got something good with Elizabeth, and I’m glad for that. He was lonely for a long time.”
“He was with you when you delivered Kate?”
“Yeah. That was a hell of a ride... the C-section and all. That child is going to be a handful as a teenager, I can already tell.”
“Are you worried about them?”
“Worried, no. Sarah’s great. She’ll have a blast with them. I just... miss them. I feel so far away from them.”
“They are far, now, yes. But you are lucky to be close to them everyday that is not today. You are lucky to have them.”
“I know.”
A feeling of guilt and sympathy and foolishness was beginning to gather in her chest as she realized just how well off she was. She’d lost the love of her life. But she still had her daughters. Luka had nothing. No wife, no children, no family. He had no home, and she was essentially his only friend. She’d thought her life was over. She’d thought she couldn’t live without Doug. And yet, here was a man, worse off then she, getting on with his life. She was floored by his courage.
“My wife would have liked you,” he told her softly.
“Really? You think so?”
“I do. You would have been great friends.”
Carol smiled, watching as his hand slipped over hers.
“I wish I would have known her.” And she wished also that she could have known Luka before the war. Before his life had been ruined by violence and genocide. She imagined he must have been a very different man.
“We have a lot of wishes, don’t we Carol?”
“We do.” She nodded as their eyes locked.
“Perhaps that is all we have left. A basket of wishes.” His voice was low and soft and earnest. “Do you think that is so?”
“Maybe. Do you believe that wishes come true?”
He shook his head softly. “Only if you make them.”
A vision of Doug suddenly flashed through her mind. He was sitting across from her at their kitchen table, the morning before he left for Kosovo. Their hands were clasped together, their gazes locked, just as her and Luka’s were in that very moment.
Abruptly, she pulled her hand away and cleared her throat awkwardly.
Startled, Luka pursed his lips, seeing her apprehension. “I should be going.” He stood from the table, taking one last gulp of his coffee. “We are both tired, and our flight is early.”
She nodded, her words trapped in her throat.
He turned when he was at the door. “Goodnight, Carol.”
“Goodnight.” Her voice was hoarse, unsteady.
She closed her eyes as the door clicked shut behind him, a maze of tangled thoughts pounding against her temples.
________________________________________________________________________
And I knew
From watching you
Nobody else could ever know
The part of me that can't let go
________________________________________________________________________
She managed to catch a little less than three hours of sleep that night. The images she’d seen in the day– the ruined village, the graveyard, Luka’s guilt and grief-striken face, played over and over in her head until she had to get up out of bed to keep from screaming. And then she sat at the little table, staring out over the Vokovar– the lights of the little Croation city twinkling like fireflies in the darkness. She thought about Doug. She thought about the life they could have had. She thought about the horrors he must have seen in the weeks leading up to his death. She thought of how she would visit the place where he died– the land, the jail. The fear that had kept a subdued presence all day slowly rose up from the pit of her stomach to settle in throat. And there it stayed, through the night, and through the short flight to Shajnik, Kosovo.
Luka questioned her remoteness as the small plane landed shakily on the runway.
“I’m just tired, Luka,” she patted his arm lightly, chewing on her bottom lip.
“You have barely said three words to me all morning.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She turned to smile at him. “I’m a little nervous, I guess.”
“It will be alright, Carol.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
The problem came when they tried to pass through customs. Luka showed his passport, had his carry-on checked, and was cleared. But when Carol showed her passport, the clerk shook her head and handed it back.
“Ne,” the woman told her. “No good.”
Carol looked at her, confused, and furrowed her brow. “What’s the matter?”
The clerk shook her head again, and began speaking in Serbian, her hands firmly planted on her thin hips.
“I don’t understand,” Carol sighed, looking at her passport, then turning to Luka. “What is she saying?”
“She says that your passport is not valid.” He explained as he listend to the clerk. “That you have to change your impost number to get into Shajnik legally. Yours is outdated, I think.”
“Fuck.”
Luka grinned. “Relax, Carol. We are to go to the international affairs depot, she has said. We will fix your passport, do not worry.”
Carol sighed again, muttering under her breath. “Great. This is exactly what I need. This is wonderful.”
~*~*~*~
“Good Morning, welcome to the Shajnik Bureau of International Business and Information. I am Vladimir Zoback, how may I help you?”
A tall, dark haired man with a friendly smile and choppy english starred at Carol and Luka from across a long desk.
“Uh, I think there’s something wrong with my passport.” She handed it to him, pointing. “My impost number is wrong...?”
“Ah yes, very common problem, I fix it for you.”
“Just like that?” Carol smiled. She had been expecting it to be more difficult.
“Well, normally it takes a while to get through to the main office, but I am the manager,” Vladimir grinned and slipped out form behind the desk, “So I can do what I want. Follow me please.”
He led them into an airy office with a big bay window and a glossy wood desk. Vladimir sat down and motioned for them to sit too. “Let me see... hmm...alright, this is fine. I will give you a new number, and off you go, good as new!”
“Thank you,” Carol nodded, glancing out of the big, clear window. She gasped as looked across the street. An expanse of dusty, barren land stood, dotted with scraps of metal sheets and plywood. It seemed so out of place with the modern business building. “What a strange place to put a dump,” she exclaimed softly.
Vlad laughed. “That is not a dump, my dear. There used to be a mall there, but it was bombed last year and we haven’t the money to rebuild yet.”
Her mouth formed a silent ‘Oh’ and her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.
“There you are Miss Hathaway, brand new impost number.”
She looked up from her lap. “Thank you, I appreciate it, really.”
“Not a problem,” he smiled warmly, noticing something strangely familiar about the young, dark haired woman sitting across from him. “Are you here for recreation?”
“Ah, no. We’re uh...” she looked up to Luka. “We’re visiting someone.” She turned back to the Serbian man, and their eyes caught for a moment. A sudden feeling of familiarity washed through her, as if she new him. She shook away the feeling.
Vlad tipped his head. “Have we met before?”
Carol shook her head, still slightly perturbed. “I don’t think so. This is my first time in Kosovo.”
He nodded. “Right. Do you know where you are going?”
“No, actually. You wouldn’t happen to have a map handy...?”
“I will get you a guide,” Vlad told her, picking up his telephone.
“Oh, that isn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is. You will have a guide and a jeep. You can go anywhere in Shajnik!”
Carol smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Zoback, thank you. How much will that be?”
“Oh, free of charge,” he grinned at her and dialed the phone.
________________________________________________________________________
The wind felt good in her hair as the jeep sped along the dusty trail of red earth and short shrubbery. She closed her eyes, hearing Luka’s relaxed breathing beside her and the sounds of the tires bouncing over the pebbly ground.
“It is nice, this ride,” Luka commented quietly, gazing at her. He couldn’t stop the flutter in his chest at the sight of her– head tilted back into wind, eyes closed, skin glowing. Her hair was lose and whipping around her face freely. He smiled lightly, a great pain presenting itself in his throat when he realized that she looked a little like Danijela.
“Mmmm,” she agreed, her eyes still closed. She was tired.
“Do you think this man has any idea where he’s going?”
She laughed, opening her eyes to look at Luka. “I hope so.”
“So do I. It would not be so much fun to be stranded out here.”
“Yeah. That’d be uncomfortable.” She grinned softly. “Hey, Luka?”
He turned to her expectantly.
“Thank you for coming with me. I– I don’t know if I could have done this alone.”
He smiled, gently taking her hand in his. “I must thank you, also. Being here was.... it was very good. I haven’t been home in a long time. I am glad you convinced me to come.”
“I can be pretty persuasive, huh?”
He laughed. “You certainly can.”
“Mi jesu ovdje,” their guide called out, bringing the jeep to a jerking halt.
Carol closed her eyes before she could look around. She felt Luka’s hand tighten around hers reassuringly. “He said we’re here, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it bad?”
“It is only one building, Carol. But open your eyes, see for youself.”
She slowly parted her eyelids. She felt a lump rise in her throat as the charred, skeletal remains of a large building came into focus directly in front of them. “God,” she whispered. It was the only thing she could say.
“Carol...?”
She slid off the seat of the jeep, both feet hitting the earth with a steady thump. Luka followed her out of the jeep.
She breathed slowly, trying to calm her pounding heart and still her trembling hands. After a few minutes, she took a few steps foreward, so that they were a few yards away from the ruins. “Its horrible, Luka. Its so horrible.”
“I know,” he soothed softly.
Her hand reached up to cover her mouth, more an attempt to keep the emotions swirling in her chest where they were than an expression of shock.
This was her nightmare.
This was the place of his death. Where he’d breathed his last breath, thought his last thought. The blackened beams lying in heaps barely supported the crude skeleton of a structure. This was his ending. The wonderful man she had planned to spend her life with– this was his ending. This was were his life stopped.
“Carol,” Luka said gently. She looked to him. He was holding the white rose, offering it to her. It had wilted and began to dry during the night, but it was still beautiful, in a defeated sort of way.
Carol nodded, taking the rose gently, almost unable to tear her gaze from the ruined remains of the jail.
“Do you think he’s really in there, Luka?”
He shook his head softly, his hand passing over her shoulder in gentle solace. “No. No. I think that he is here.” He motioned with a light tap on her chest. “And I think he’s back in Chicago with those babies. I think he’s in that hospital with all those frightened children.”
“God...” It was still the only fitting word. The only thing that made sense to her. An expression of shock and grief and awe.
She turned away from him, then, and stepped right up to the edge of the charred building. Luka didn’t go after her, and she didn’t turn back to tell him to follow.
A sense of aching finality had come over her, and she suddenly found herself on her knees on the dusty earth. Then, so gently she was barely touching them, she plucked each wilted petal from the rose, and let the bare stem fall to the ground. She let the petals go, tilting her head into the warm sun to watch as they were carried off in the wind.
<< “He loved you, Carol. He loved you more than anything in the world.” >>
Sarah’s words descended upon her in a whisper, echoing in the depths of her mind. With one gulping breath, her shoulders trembling with heaving emotion, she began to sob. She didn’t even try to stop herself as torrents of hot tears ran down her face.
Her heart filled with grief and peculiar relief, and she reached down, running her hand through the mixture of dirt and ash. Then she grabbed a handful, letting it sift through her fingers and fall onto the ruins of the jail, whispering words so soft and sad that they too were carried away with the wind.
“Goodbye, love.”
________________________________________________________________________
“For ever, and for ever, farewell.”
~From William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar~
________________________________________________________________________
Part 7
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