Diary of Interrupted Days (11 page)

Mira’s father was a stocky man in his fifties, his face full of lines. When he had met Johnny for the first time a half-hour earlier, he had not introduced himself—this was his house.

“What do your parents do?” Johnny said.

“They both worked in Germany for twenty-two years,” Mira said. “Dad started building this house five years ago, so they could come back after retiring and be somebodies. Then they decided to return while they were still strong, to start a pig farm. They both came just two months before the first gun was fired. Great timing, huh?”

“You stayed in Germany?”

“I have a boyfriend in Munich, and they did not want to jeopardize my future with him.”

“Are you getting married?”

She shrugged. “We have a long way to go before we’ve earned enough to start a life on our own.”

“What do you do there?”

“I work in an electronics store.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I wanted to persuade them to come back to Germany with me. My father got me a gun instead. They have an arsenal in the basement. Let me show you.”

He followed her downstairs.

“So you’re a policeman now, huh? That’s a shitty job, right?”

“Why?”

“Well, who will you dare to arrest, really, when everyone is armed? I think it’s throwing sand in our eyes.”

She unlocked the heavy door and switched on the lights. The basement was built like a bunker with concrete walls and narrow windows. It had a bathroom in one corner and three chest freezers along a wall. A heavy walnut cabinet stood on the opposite wall. She opened it. Inside, there was a brand-new Kalashnikov, two rifles, several hand grenades, and five or six pistols, some of them large.

“Some pig farm,” Mira said. “But, you know what they say—‘Protect yourself and God will protect you.’” She chuckled. “What about your parents?”

“They died in a train crash.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“Where did you live afterwards?”

“Don’t be offended, but why does it matter?”

Mira nodded. “You’ve turned out well, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“I have a friend with a similar story. He is very soft, insecure. It spoiled him, I guess.”

“Could be. I meant to ask you something. I tried calling Belgrade, but I can’t get through. Is it only this village?”

“No. The lines are cut between Croatia and Serbia. Why? You want to call your girlfriend?”

Mira’s mother called down the stairs to tell them dinner was ready.

The snow started drifting down around ten the next morning. The size of the flakes kept increasing, until, by noon, it finally looked like what it was, a winter storm.

Johnny’s three-man patrol started their shift at eight in the evening. By then, the wind had stopped, the snow had finished, the stars appeared, and the village looked ready for the coming holidays and unprepared for war. The soldiers, except for those standing guard on the outskirts of the village, were mostly inside—in the bar, in the houses where they slept watching the news or playing cards.

“Why the fuck are we doing this?” Goran asked. He was a tall, muscular man in his early thirties, a judo instructor from a small town south of Belgrade. “The men will have a few drinks and if they get into a fight, they’re all smart enough to leave the weapons out of it. The locals are all at home.”

“How about
we
get something to drink? We’ll be freezing our asses off out there.” Mile was the company joker, the oldest of the conscripts. He was a farmer in his early forties, stocky, with a crooked nose. Pap had apparently selected his policemen according to their size and strength.

“No way, man,” Johnny said. “Someone has to keep his head clear. People are really bored now and that’s dangerous.”

“All right, boss,” said Mile. “You city folks don’t know how to enjoy life. If I were commanding this patrol, we would be sitting next to a furnace, I can tell you that. With women in our laps and drinks in our hands.”

Johnny did not respond. This was indeed a shitty job, but at least it was useful. Many of his fellow soldiers were not at all happy about those Croatian houses being ransacked by the Lions. He had no doubt that if the tension got too bad they would bring weapons into it, and he knew who would be the first to use them.

The temperature was dropping, and the sound of their steps on the snow-covered streets was changing from croaks to cracks. Wood smoke rose straight from the chimneys. The other patrol was supposed to visit all five local joints, and Johnny and his men were to make sure that the streets were safe. Five watering holes in such a small place.

They came to an intersection and—since the main street was lit well enough to see that it was empty—Johnny turned right onto the side street and his companions followed. In the window of a butcher store on the corner was a handwritten note regarding services at the Catholic church in the next village, which meant the owners were Croats.

Muffled voices came from television sets behind the closed windows and drawn curtains. This street also looked deserted. When they had walked down half of it, Johnny stopped.

“The only place this leads is to the fields. Let’s go back.”

“Sure, boss,” Mile said loudly. Looking over Johnny’s shoulder, he added, quietly, “There’s someone at the end of the street.”

Johnny turned and squinted. He saw it now: an illogical shadow at the end of the left row of houses. Among parallel lines—windows, facades, fences, doors—it was rounded enough to be a person. A person trying to remain invisible.

“Against the wall,” hissed Johnny, and in a few steps all three of them were pressed against the closest house on the same side of the street as the shadow. “Arms ready,” Johnny said, pulling out his semi-automatic pistol and sneaking ahead.

One of the wooden fences between them and the shadow was broken in the middle. It leaned towards the street, making the silhouette invisible. Poking his head around, Johnny was startled when a small flame burst from the direction of their target, maybe twenty yards away. For a moment, Johnny expected to hear a shot, and then he realized the man was lighting a cigarette.

“Don’t move,” Johnny called, surprising himself by the flatness of his voice. “Who are you?”

For a few seconds there was no answer. The man held the match flame close to his face long enough for Johnny to recognize the Lion they called the Boxer. Except for his broken nose, skinny little Boxer didn’t fit the description. He was probably a small-time crook here for what he could pillage. The matchstick burned his fingers. He cursed in a muffled voice, dropping it.

“Why the fuck are you sneaking up?” he said to Johnny as he blew on his fingers.

“What are you doing here?” Johnny asked, his two comrades at his side. The Boxer noticed the guns.

“Hey, put the guns away—are you insane? We’re on the same side, idiots.”

The two other men holstered their weapons but Johnny just lowered his pistol.

“So, why are you here, Boxer?”

“What do you care?” He noticed the white belts on their uniforms. “Oh, right. The cops. I’m scared shitless.”

“Are you standing guard?”

“You’re crazy.”

Johnny craned to look behind him through a narrow side gate to the last house in the row. It was dark. No other house in the village was dark this early.

“Step aside,” Johnny said.

“What, you’re going to rob the Croats now? Better do it in daylight so you can see what they’re hiding.”

“How do you know they’re Croats?” Johnny raised his gun again. “Step aside!”

The man obliged.

“Mile, stay here and make sure he doesn’t make a sound.”

“No problem, boss.”

“What, this peasant will stop me?” The Boxer frowned.

Mile raised his left fist from the hip and decked the Lion, who almost lost his footing. “If you want, I can nail you to the gate so you won’t slip again,” Mile said.

“Goran, come with me.” Johnny pushed the gate open, the wood scraping on the ice below. At the corner of the house, he waved Goran ahead to check one side. The man sneaked to the window on the ground floor and carefully looked inside. Then he crept along to a small basement
window out of which a faint light shone, and knelt to look in. After a moment, he gestured to Johnny to come.

Over Goran’s shoulder, Johnny saw a young woman on the edge of a bed, naked. A man was holding her legs on his shoulders, raping her. His moves were merciless. Two men sat next to them, watching. One of them, with a black bandana, held a gun in the girl’s mouth. The other one had unbuttoned his black uniform pants, waiting his turn. There was no sound, just the faces: the insanity on the face of the rapist, the grinning of the two other men, the numb stare on the girl’s face.

Johnny touched Goran’s shoulder. They got up and moved quickly towards the corner of the house. Clear. They came to the side entrance and Goran carefully pressed the latch. It was open. He stood for a few seconds, listening, and then entered. Johnny went in after him and saw the stairs leading to the basement. He motioned for Goran to check the rest of the house, and he went downstairs.

At the bottom was a short corridor with two doors, both closed. He leaned his ear against one of them and heard the slapping of skin against skin. Slowly, he pressed the handle and pushed a little. The hinges were silent. He raised his gun to eye level, and hit the door with his boot. It banged against something and he yelled, “Don’t move!”

Nothing much happened. The gun was still inside the girl’s mouth and Johnny did not really know what to do next.

“Hey, look,” said the Lion holding the gun. “It’s the soldier with the ponytail. Hey, bro, is that tail too high or are you really shitting from your brain?”

The other two laughed.

“Some people really have no manners. Who taught you to interrupt people when they are having sex?” the rapist said.

Johnny did not like the grin on his face.

“Leave the girl,” Johnny said, aiming straight at his head. “You are all under arrest.”

“I think he’s serious,” said the first Lion, not moving the gun.

“Yup. See the sweat?” the unbuttoned Lion said.

Johnny felt the drops gathering on his forehead. “I’ll shoot if I have to,” he said.

“Hey, shithead, what better death than to die fucking? Watch me and jerk, moron.” The rapist made a forceful thrust with his hips. The girl moaned. “You see? She’s enjoying it. Croatian pussies like it rough.” He continued to move inside her. “Tell him, bro, while I fill her up, tell him what we discovered.”

“This little whore has a brother but he’s not at home,” the unbuttoned Lion said. “Their parents couldn’t tell us where he was, so we came down here to ask her. We think he’s with the Croatian throat cutters. So we decided to make her a small Serb, to spread the love. You should stick it in, too, if you’re a man. She won’t tell anyone.”

A door slammed on the upper floor and feet padded down the stairs. Goran appeared behind Johnny.

“Her parents are upstairs. Beaten unconscious and tied up,” he said to Johnny. “You pricks have a problem. Get that gun out of her mouth and step aside.”

The rapist grinned at him. “The gun is staying. As is my dick.”

Goran crossed the room in two steps and hit the rapist
so hard that he was out before he landed on the one holding the gun, knocking him to the floor. The unbuttoned Lion went for Goran, who did something with his hands, spun him around, and threw him on the floor. A gun went off. The Lion with the bandana had pulled himself out from under his friend and was now trying for a better angle on Goran. Johnny fired. The man dropped his gun and clutched at his biceps. Blood flowed through his fingers and he moaned.

“Did he get you?” Johnny asked.

Goran shook his head as he helped the girl sit up.

Johnny pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. She was shivering now, but still silent.

“Take her upstairs. Tell Mile to bring the Boxer here. We’ll tie them all up. Find a phone and call Pap to send more men.”

Goran gave the girl his shoulder to lean on. Johnny flicked on the light and picked up the weapons. He found a table lamp with a long cord, yanked it out, and began tying up the Lions.

It was several hours before the whole mess was over. The wounded Lion was only scratched, it turned out. Just before Johnny left headquarters, the Candyman turned up from somewhere, furious, and locked himself up with Pap. The prisoners were soon taken out, handcuffed, and put in one of the Candyman’s trucks. Then the truck and two Jeeps roared off into the night. By that point the whole village had heard the news and there wasn’t a single house whose windows were completely dark at one in the morning.

The storeroom at Mira’s house was empty when Johnny got back. He was grateful that the other conscripts were on guard duty—he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He lay down in the dark, in his uniform, and tried not to think.

When he woke up it was still dark and he could hear snoring around him. He got up and stepped over the sleeping soldiers, trying not to wake them. The house was silent. At the back door, he put his boots back on and went outside. The village was lit only by the moon and the houses around him looked like containers waiting for their ship. He leaned against the wall. It took him a few moments to notice a small orange dot to his right. The dot went higher and intensified. He recognized the lips and the nose.

“Want some?” Mira whispered.

He smelled the pot in the air and extended his hand. Their fingers touched as she passed the joint. He inhaled a couple of times, covering the glow with his hand, and offered it back to her.

“Finish it,” she said. “I’m fine.”

His eyes had became accustomed to the darkness and he glanced sideways at her. She was sitting on a bench along the wall, her legs outstretched, her face lifted towards the starry sky. He sat next to her. The pot started working. It was not a downer, apparently, but it did not lift him up either. He felt heavier and his shoulders fell a little. He took the last drag, burning his fingers, and then extinguished the roach in the snow.