Braco (30 page)

THURSDAY:
JAC LARUE

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

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

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

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

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

“No idea.”

Maarten tossed another stone.

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

“You might enjoy that.”

Maarten flipped a stone in Jac's direction.

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

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

“It's going west. Men.”

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

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

Jac glanced up at the midday sun, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He stuck his thumbs against his chest, twice, expecting to hook them inside his flak jacket. After the second attempt, he mentally slapped himself. He slid his hands into his pockets, still feeling the urge to hang his thumbs in his phantom flak vest.

Another engine echoed from the road.

“Buses,” Maarten said, standing. “The sergeant's convoy?”

A string of unescorted buses sped by the peacekeepers. They watched the empty road.

“Guess he's hitchhiking, too,” Jac said.

“Hey, Blue Helmets!”

They turned around. A Serb waved to them from across the street.

“Wonder what he wants?”

“Our uniforms, probably,” Maarten replied.

The Serb crossed the street with a half dozen heavily armed soldiers in tow. He held up his automatic rifle to Jac.

“We need help,” he said.

Jac didn't touch the rifle. “Doing what?”

“Hunting Turks.”

Maarten choked. “Say that in English.”

The soldier pointed at the farm. “Come. We can hunt them.”

Maarten pointed at the open fields. “Hunt where? I can see Greece from here.”

Jac laid a hand on Maarten's arm and then the Serb tried to press the rifle into Jac's chest, but he raised his hands and stepped back.

“We're not going anywhere with you.”

“So, you are cowards.”

Maarten stepped up to the Serb. “Listen to me, you bastard….”

Jac pulled on his sleeve. “Leave it.”

“Jesus, Jac. I'm sick of not cooperating. Maybe it's time we provoked….”

A green troop truck geared down next to them and stopped a few metres ahead of the group. Sergeant Janssen waved to them to climb aboard.

“Oh, thank God,” Jac muttered as he pushed his way through the soldiers.

The pair scaled the back of the truck and it lurched forward.

“You're just in time,” Maarten said. “They were ready to take us hunting.”

“Hunting for what?” Janssen asked then shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Where're we going?”

“To join the crews from the other convoys. Serbs stole every jeep that went out this morning.” He pointed to Maarten. “What happened to you?”

“Open window. Flying rock. It's fine.”

Janssen glanced at Jac, unconvinced. Jac shrugged.

As they approached the town, Maarten tapped Jac on the shoulder and then pointed towards a soccer field. Dozens of men sat in the middle of it. They were shirtless with their hands on their heads. Jac leaned out over the tailgate, looking for a young skinny boy among the men, but they were travelling too fast.

“Don't worry about him,” Maarten said. “They all look like older men. He's a smart kid. He'll get through.”

Jac motioned to the wall of soldiers lining the road. “You really think anyone can get through that?”

“Listen Jac, the men in that field were old men. Walking through the woods has to be hell on earth for them. They can't move fast and they don't know the woods like Atif does. I'm willing to bet he got here before most of these soldiers did and slipped across last night.”

“You're full of it, you know that, right?”

“Not this time, Jac,” Maarten replied, taking more notes. “I think the kid is okay.”

They passed a line of men walking along the road, their hands on their heads. Jac examined their weathered faces. None wore army green.

“You see. They're all older men.”

The truck slowed and turned onto a gravel road. They passed four Dutch jeeps sitting on the side of the road and stopped. Peacekeepers relaxed in the grass nearby. The tailgate dropped and a Serb corporal threw a thumb in their direction.

“Go on. Join your friends.”

Janssen walked over to speak with a lieutenant sitting in the first jeep.

“Well, Potocari knows where we are,” he told them a few minutes later, “so all we can do is wait. You might as well sit down and have something to eat.”

Jac and Maarten slid down the short embankment and walked across the grass, joining the others under the shade of a large pine tree. Three bare-chested peacekeepers were lying on their shirts in the sun. Two wore sunglasses, the third's blue UN baseball cap covered his face.

“Well, what do you know? It's Jac and Jill,” Karel said, tossing them each a ration pack.

Jac sat down next to Bram. “What's going on?”

“Well, now that the Serbs have stolen all our CD players and Game Boys, nothing much.” He rolled his eyes at Karel. “He's keeping us entertained with his jokes. Again.”

“Yeah, Jac, you missed the best ones,” Karel said. “What would the people in Sarajevo ask Jesus if he showed up carrying his cross?”

“They'd ask him where he got the wood,” Maarten replied. “Don't quit your day job, Karel.”

“Okay. How about the one where the kid asked his friend why he was in the park swinging on the swings.”

“He was doing it to screw up the snipers,” one of the sunbathing peacekeepers answered.

“So, Karel, what would you do if you stepped on a land mine?” Maarten asked. Karel shrugged. “Jump two hundred feet into the air and scatter yourself over a wide area. Please.”

Karel held up his fist, the middle finger popping up. Maarten laughed and raised the ration pack Karel had given him.

“Yeah, you bought me dinner, but be patient. We need more privacy, don't you think?”

The sunbathers laughed.

Maarten elbowed Jac and pointed to the road. Janssen was walking away from the jeeps with the lieutenant. They met with a Serb officer and an animated conversation ensued.

“What do you think they're up to?”

“No idea,” Jac replied.

The conversation turned into smiles and an exchange of cigarettes. The lieutenant shook the Serb's hand and then went straight to the radio in the first jeep. Janssen approached the group.

“They're going to let most of you go back to the camp. Two of us will stay here and wait for the ride Potocari has already sent out.”

The sergeant looked at Jac and smiled.

“That's us, right?” Jac said.

Janssen nodded.

“Make sure he gets his head checked,” Jac said, motioning to Maarten. “And get them to check that ugly gash too.”

Maarten slapped Jac on the back of his head and then followed the others to the jeeps. Jac went with them and Maarten tossed him a bottle of water out of the window as the vehicles turned around in a cloud of dust. They took a left at the end of the road.

The sergeant pulled out his field pad and strolled through the dust towards the intersection.

Jac walked behind him, opening the bottle. The water warmed his throat.

Ice. What I'd give for a single cube of ice.

He slowed and soaked his towel, wiping the sticky sweat from his face. A grenade exploded in the forest, a column of dust rising up between the trees. Serb soldiers jumped the guardrail and vanished into the forest. Others searched men who had come out of the woods to surrender and loaded them into the back of a troop truck. Serb soldiers returned from the forest with several more men. Another grenade popped. The sergeant wrote on his notepad.

“Don't worry, Blue Helmet,” a voice said from behind Jac. A soldier walking with a group of comrades detached himself and came abreast of Jac. “The Turks are killing themselves with grenades. They're war criminals, you see. They would rather kill themselves than face justice.”

The soldier laughed and rejoined his friends. Jac watched as they selected a number of men and searched them. The soldiers emptied pockets and bags, throwing away papers and pocketing other items. A soldier appeared from the forest on the far side of the road with two boys in tow. Jac stopped a few metres from the intersection, staring at the boys. One wore shorts and no shirt. The other wore jeans and a white shirt and both their heads were shaved. Jac moved closer. A soldier suddenly obscured his view of the two boys.

“What are you looking at, Blue Helmet?”

“Nothing.”

“Then you should go do nothing with your friend over there.”

A second soldier appeared beside the first. Their arms rested on the rifles slung across their chests.

Jac turned away. The Serbs followed him for a few steps and then left him alone. He slowed, looking for the boys.

Have they been loaded onto a truck already?

When he got to Janssen, he caught sight of the boys standing apart from the men. A soldier was standing in the middle of the road; he raised his arm to stop an approaching vehicle.

Another truck?

Brakes hissed.

Then a bus halted in front of the soldier and the door flew open. The soldier stepped aboard and spoke to the driver. The driver nodded his head and the soldier waved to the boys. They climbed into the bus full of women and children.

“Is that him?”

Jac turned. Sergeant Janssen made a last note and then took out his water and drank a mouthful. He pointed towards the bus with the bottle.

“Maarten told me what you did for the boy.”

“I don't think that's him,” Jac said. The bus crept through the crowded road. “He was taller.”

“If your friend didn't get across, they probably did the same for him.”

“Maybe.”

A Serb officer walked up to them.

“Can I borrow your pen?”

Janssen passed his pen to the Serb.

“Can I borrow your notepad?”

Janssen flipped to a clean page and handed the pad to him. The Serb closed the notepad, stuffed it inside a pocket, and then walked away.

“Great,” Janssen said, folding his arms. “That was my last pen.”

The Serb officer stopped next to a group of men and pointed at the Dutch. Within minutes, five tall Serbs stood in front of the peacekeepers. Janssen walked away from the intersection and Jac followed.

“So, Sergeant, did you bring any cards with you?”

“What? And have them stolen too?”

Jac slowed down and turned his head. “That sounds like a jeep.”

A white jeep turned the corner and stopped next to them. Four peacekeepers, including Maarten, piled out. A Serb truck pulled up alongside the jeep and deposited the other Dutch peacekeepers in the middle of the road. Maarten threw his gear on the ground.

“Bastards on the road stole the other three jeeps,” he said. “And don't expect help from Potocari either. They stole that jeep too.”

THURSDAY:
MARIJA STAVIC

ADILA SQUEEZED MARIJA'S
arm as the bus slowed. The brakes hissed and the door clanked open. Tihana stirred in Adila's arms.

Another checkpoint.

“It's okay,” Marija whispered, tucking Adila's scarf under her chin.

A green helmet appeared and the driver dug out a cigarette. The soldier lit up and then scanned the seats. Smoke poured from his nose.

“I could use some fresh air,” the driver said.

The soldier nodded. The driver stood up and handed him another cigarette. They stepped off the bus. Adila's grip relaxed. Marija turned to look at Ina. She sat with her arm wrapped around Lejla, holding a blanket tight around the girl's head.

She must be sweltering under that, Marija thought. She turned away and checked their water supply. Two litres left.

Outside, the driver was talking to a small group of soldiers, passing out a cigarette every time one was smothered under a boot. Marija's eyes wandered to a farmhouse set back from the road. White with red trim.

Like home.

There were remnants of a child's attempt at a tree house under a large willow tree that was missing many of its lower branches; it reminded her of the fort Atif had built behind their house. Marija smiled to herself. Atif had borrowed his father's saw and hammer for the project, but Yassir had thought the tools had been stolen. He'd gone to Kravica to buy new ones, only to find the tools hanging in the proper spot when he got home. Atif got his own tool box after that.

Is his fort still standing?
She stared at the rotted wood under the tree.
Where are you, my child?

The driver boarded the bus and closed the door. The soldiers stepped back. The bus swayed as it pulled onto the road.

“How much farther?” Adila asked. “I don't know this part of the road at all.”

“Well, we've passed Vlasenica, so it's not much farther.” She leaned against the girl, trying to see ahead. They passed familiar buildings. “Yes. That's it. We're getting close. Shouldn't be long now.”

“There's going to be soldiers there, right?” Adila's voice trembled.

“I don't know. But there will be so many of us. We'll try to stay in the middle of the crowd until we get to the other side.”

Marija looked behind at Ina: she was tying a scarf around the blonde girl's head.

Gravel crackled underneath as the bus rolled along the shoulder of the road. The driver braked to a stop and then turned to face them.

“You have a long walk ahead of you, ladies. Don't worry. The blue helmets wait for you in Kladanj. In a few hours, you'll be in Tuzla. You'll have food and water and a place to sleep. Don't worry. The soldiers here won't bother you.”

“There's a TV camera here,” Adila said. “Are they journalists?”

Marija stood up and tried to find the camera. “I don't know, but it's a good thing.”

“Why?”

“I'm guessing the soldiers won't do anything bad if it's going to be on film.”

“What if it's the Chetniks who are filming?”

“I don't know. I'd still rather have them here.”

The driver stepped off the bus and waited just outside the door. The women and children followed.

“Don't rush,” he warned them, helping an elderly woman down the steps. “Take your time.”

Marija waited until Ina and Lejla passed her before joining the line. As she stepped down, Ina was reaching up to kiss the driver on the cheek. He blushed and told her to keep going.

“Thank you, Mr. Kovac,” Marija said, touching his arm.

“It's Alex to my friends.” He smiled. “Alex Kovac.”

Marija put her arm around Adila and walked behind Ina. They joined the refugees from the other buses, keeping their heads down. The Serbs were smiling at the camera as they helped the women step off the buses.

“Six kilometres,” Ina said. “I heard one of the soldiers say the blue helmets were six kilometres ahead.”

“Dear God,” Marija said, looking around at some of the older women in the group. “In this heat?”

“Stay on the pavement,” one soldier shouted. “There are mines in the woods. Don't go off the pavement for any reason. The blue helmets are in Kladanj. Six kilometres. They have food and water. Keep moving. Keep moving.”

Tihana woke up and pulled the toy soldiers out from under her shirt.

“Do you think she can walk?” Adila asked. “She's getting heavy.”

Marija glanced back, looking for helmets or short haircuts in the crowd. When she turned back, she walked into a wall of green. Two arms reached out and took her by the shoulders. She cried out.

“Sorry,” a male voice said. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

Marija looked up. The soldier stepped back, slinging his rifle behind him. He was looking at Adila.

“It's just that she looked like she needed help,” he said in a voice that had yet to crack. “She doesn't look well.”

Marija ushered Adila forward. “We're okay.”

The soldier followed them. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please. Leave us alone.”

“Okay. But my officer told me to walk with your group for a while. Some kids were throwing rocks, so he wants me to go along. Can you believe it? Throwing rocks at women and children.”

“Yes, I can,” Marija said, looking at him.

He held up a chocolate bar. “If it's all right, can you give this to the little girl? It's only going to melt.”

The soldier was looking down at Tihana with a smile that reminded her of Atif. Marija looked away and then reached for Tihana. Adila laid her against Marija's shoulder.

“Do you want a little chocolate?”

Tihana's eyes bulged when she caught sight of the foil-wrapped bar. The soldier laughed and reached out with both hands.

“Seriously. Let me take her. It's hot and you must be exhausted.”

Marija caught sight of Ina waiting on the side of the road.

Six kilometres at midday, Marija thought, sweat rolling between her eyes. And only two litres of water left.

“I'm not going to run off with her.”

“Is it okay with you?” she asked Tihana.

Tihana nodded, her eyes on the chocolate bar. The soldier shifted his rifle and swung Tihana up and sat her on his shoulders.

“Here you go,” he said, passing the chocolate bar up. “Try not to get it all over my cap.”

Marija smiled. The soldier held on to Tihana just as Atif had the day before. Marija swallowed the ache rising in her throat and took Adila's hand.

“Let's go before we get left behind. Are you ready up there?” the soldier asked, peering at Tihana. She licked the chocolate from her fingers and nodded.

Marija stayed close to them; Ina and Lejla slipped in behind.

“Do you need any water?” the soldier asked after a few steps.

“We have some, thank you.”

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I recognized you.”

“From where?”

“We have a farm just outside Bratunac. My father bought some furniture from your husband a couple months before the war started. I remember you took me into your kitchen and gave me cookies.”

“I'm sorry, I don't remember.”

“That's okay. Can I ask how your husband is doing?”

“I don't know where he is. I think he's been stranded somewhere since April.”

“Then maybe you'll see him soon.”

“What's your name?”

“Boris Racic.”

“Racic? Yes. I remember your father. How has he been?”

“Good. I got a letter from him a couple of weeks ago. The farm is doing well. He was hoping for some rain, so I imagine he was happy last week. He is growing corn now. For the army.”

“And your mother?”

“She's doing well,” he said, shifting course towards the side of the road. He looked back briefly and then pulled a bottle of water from a side pocket and dropped it into the lap of an old woman sitting on the ground. “She's been in Belgrade most of the summer taking care of her mother. Which is good. It's safe there.”

“I'm happy to hear that.”

“Is your daughter okay? She really doesn't look well.” Boris was looking at Adila's face.

“It's fine. It's just a rash.”

“I didn't think you had two daughters.”

Marija chewed on the side of her mouth.
Do I tell him?

“She's not my daughter. I just thought it was better if she carried my daughter, to keep the soldiers away.”

“Oh,” Boris said, his mouth hanging on the word for a moment. “Oh. Okay. I'm sorry. I've only been here a few hours. I didn't think.”

“It's okay,” Adila said. “How far can you walk with us?”

“Far enough.”

He pulled out another chocolate bar and offered it to Adila. She took it and turned around, giving half to Lejla. The soldier looked back, twice.

“Twins,” he said, nodding his head.

Boris handed his canteen to Tihana. Chocolate coated the sides of her mouth, her fingers, and both toy soldiers.

The crowd thinned. People took refuge under the shade of trees, waiting out the heat of the afternoon.

“The tree,” Boris said, pointing. The large trunk blocked the road. “It's easier to walk around it than over it.”

“It's not dangerous?”

“They made sure it was okay. You'll be fine.”

They stopped and Boris rested on one knee so that Tihana could jump down. She turned around and smiled, her eyes on the pouch that had held the chocolate bars. “Okay,” he said. “One more. But don't eat it right away. You don't want to get a tummy ache, do you?”

She shook her head and took the bar, squeezing it between the toy soldiers.

“I hope you find your husband,” Boris said, standing up. “I'll tell my father we spoke.”

“Please,” Marija said, reaching out for his hand. She shook it, holding on for a moment. “Thank you.”

Boris opened his mouth to reply then shut it, his eyes gazing down.

“What is it?”

“When we picked up the table, I remember a boy a little younger than me. Is he in the woods?”

Marija's stomach tightened. She nodded, swallowing hard.

“What's his name?”

“Atif.”

“Listen,” Boris said, glancing back. Maria followed his gaze. Two soldiers were leaning against the guardrail, smoking. “I'm going back to watch the road after the last bus. I'll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you,” Marija said. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“I can't promise anything. I'm nobody in this army, but who knows?”

Marija took Boris's face into her hands and kissed it. He blushed and turned away. She watched him join the other soldiers.

Ina took her daughters' hands.

“I think we're safe now.”

Marija picked up Tihana, using her shirt to clean the chocolate from her face.

“Yes. We're safe.”