The Devil Couldn't Break Me (7 page)

I emptied the glass of water and asked for another trying to pluck up the courage to walk over to a table of policemen and ask where the Red Cross Camps were. The barman was asking me more questions and clearly flirting with me. That was the last thing I needed, it was late and I needed to act fast if I was going to get shelter otherwise I'd end up sleeping in a bus station or worse, a shop doorway. In the end I lost my nerve and wandered outside and propped myself up against the window feeling sorry for myself. Several minutes passed and I flopped to the floor. It was so cold on my backside but I didn't care. I would sit there until someone came to help me because I couldn't bring myself to walk back into the bar.

Ten minutes passed and two UN Police Officers came out and started speaking to me. They spoke in movie accents and although I couldn't understand a word they were saying, their voices were somehow soothing to me, especially the younger blond soldier who I felt an instant attraction too. Soon after a Pristina policeman joined them and he was also speaking English but he sounded so much more aggressive than the Americans, a real contrast in the tones of their voices. One of the policemen returned into the café and came out with someone else who started talking Albanian and he explained he was an official translator for the Americans. He asked me what I was doing and I said I wanted to know where the Red Cross Shelters were. The policeman spoke to me in Albanian and asked where I was from. When I told him he said that he couldn't help me because the Red Cross Camps were for displaced Kosovans and Albanians only and there was no way they could accommodate anyone from Serbia. I couldn't quite believe it as the policeman walked back into the café. I watched through the window as the barman poured him a beer and he returned to a table with his colleagues laughing and joking as if he didn't have a care in the world, as if he hadn't even met me.

Now it was the translator who sounded annoyed. He kept talking to the Americans and their voices grew louder and louder, their actions more animated.

He turned to me.

“You must go, these streets are dangerous.”

I was puzzled.

“But I don't have anywhere to go,” I said, “I don't understand, I am in Pristina and the Americans are here. Aren't we supposed to be safe?”

The translator frowned.

“If only it were that simple.”

He was arguing with the Americans. I caught odd words. I'd picked up a little English from school and of course the sub titled or dubbed movies. I heard the word
dangerous
many times and I began to get frightened. The translator was pointing at me and then to the far end of the street and the Americans soldiers were saying
No! No!
At one point the translator appeared to walk away but then quickly returned.

“You can't stay here all night,” he said, “you'll have to leave.”

It seemed a hopeless situation and I started to cry. The translator shook me by the shoulder.

“The Americans have said you can stay with them.”

“What?” I said.

He repeated his statement.

“The Americans have a flat near here and they have said you can stay there tonight.”

“No,” I said, “that's not possible, it would not be right.”

The translator let out a deep sigh and shook his head.

“Do you want shelter or not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you haven't got a choice you stupid girl. There are no hotels open and the Red Cross don't want you.”

He looked at his watch.

“I have to get going so tell me what you are planning to do.”

He was right... I had no choice. It seemed like a crazy thing to do and yet as I stared at the two American soldiers long enough to be considered rude, I couldn't help but trust them. I nodded.

“Good,” said the translator, “I might be able to go home to my family now.”

The older of the soldiers reached for my bag and the other one turned to the translator who in turn spoke to me. “They said they will take care of you.”

I nodded my head, dried my eyes and followed them across the street to their car.

God Bless America

I sat in the back of the car, cold and nervous and yet I wasn't frightened. I somehow sensed that the two soldiers were the good guys and yet at the same time I couldn't help but mouth a silent prayer to The Almighty that my judgement would not let me down.

As soon as the car door closed paranoia set in. We were in the middle of a war and people were disappearing every day. It would not be beyond the impossible for these two men to take me wherever they wanted, do whatever they wanted with me, kill me and create another statistic of a missing girl in a conflict that was spiralling out of control. I thought back to the mountainside on
that night
. On that particular night my whole village very nearly became a statistic... a big one. It would be so easy for them and I tried my hardest not to burst into tears. As pulled my coat tightly around my neck and snuggled into the thick collar, the seeds of doubt began to creep in and take root. My thoughts drifted back to my parents and I wondered how they were. Did they know something I didn't? Was that why they had sent me away?

I leaned against the cool window as the jeep pulled away and one by one the streetlights passed me by, blurred by the sheen of tears that filled my eyes. We were in the vehicle for no more than ten minutes during which I managed to convince myself that these men had freed Kosovo and driven the Serb Army back to the borders so they had to be the good guys. Just like in the movies and I had to trust them and the alternative, a doorway in a strange city seemed a whole lot worse and did not bear thinking about.

The car pulled into a gap on the side of a road and the older of the soldiers pointed to a six or seven storey apartment that I assumed was where they lived. It wasn't what I expected. The street was narrow and very busy even at this time of night and would be described as poor Eastern European, certainly not the country environment I had been used to in Veliki Trnovac. I recall that we had to walk carefully through about two centimetres of mud. I looked around and the whole street was covered in mud that puzzled me. We were in the middle of a concrete jungle. Where had the mud come from?

A one metre wide path led from the road to the entrance of the building that was dimly lit and a dirty pinkish colour. I looked at the Americans who gently herded me towards the door smiling and yet looking a little embarrassed at the dilapidated building where they lived. I somehow thought they might have been housed in some sort of plush barracks or a neat military complex, but no, it was an apartment on the ground floor in a depressed and tired street in a suburb of Pristina.

Ever the gentleman, the oldest of the Americans rushed forward to open the door to the block and as I took a final look up at the grotty building he took my bag and beckoned me forward. We walked through the door. Straight ahead were the stairs leading to the upper floors and to the left was a solitary door, which the blond soldier pointed to and took a step forward.

Although I had never set foot in a soldier's apartment it was probably how I would have imagined a place inhabited by two single men. It was a bloody mess! My God, my mother would have had a heart attack if she had seen where I would be spending my first night. We walked down a small narrow corridor and one of them stepped forward and opened the door to the lounge. I did my very best not to look too shocked and I thanked my lucky stars that it was dark as the look of amazement was clearly written all over my face. The sofa was piled high with dirty clothes, mainly camouflaged uniforms, but also under garments, socks, t-shirts and several pairs of US army issue boots.

These two soldiers clearly liked a beer or two because the small coffee table was littered with empty cans. I looked into one of the corners and several unopened cases of beer sat alongside more dirty washing. They seemed not to notice as the man with the shaved head walked into the kitchen and returned with three cans of beer. He grinned a cheeky grin as he handed his colleague a can and offered one to me. I shook my head and he looked a little disappointed. As they drank their first can quite quickly they talked to each other and gave me an occasional glance. The two of them walked back into the kitchen and then quickly returned. They were pointing to the kitchen and making signs with their two hands cradled to their heads which I took to mean that this was to be my bedroom for the night. It made sense, I'm sure a kitten would have struggled to lie down on that sofa.

And so we sat down for the evening and we talked in two languages while I did my best to use the few English words I'd picked up at school and from the movies I'd seen. Surprisingly we got by. They had picked up a few Albanian words and we established each other's names quite quickly. They were called Brian and Peter and although they struggled at first with the pronunciation of Laura, eventually they perfected it and after an hour I was conscious that I had smiled for the first time. Peter was the bald one with the cheeky smile, cheeky but nice and I warmed to him almost immediately. My judge of character had not let me down, now I was sure of it and as the seconds and the minutes and indeed hours ticked by I felt more and more comfortable in the grotty little apartment. Brian was altogether different, slightly younger than Peter and with more hair. He was quite handsome, a strong, confident man with deep blue eyes and I found myself staring at him more than I should have. I liked him immediately and by the end of the evening we were all good friends and I was completely at ease and knew I had made the right decision to stay the night with the two soldiers from America.

After a while Brian and Peter indicated that we would be eating. I confess I had hardly eaten all day and my hunger had miraculously found itself again. Peter disappeared into the kitchen while Brian drank more beer and I sipped on my water. A little while later Brian reappeared with three plates of hot sliced, square meat and warm bread and butter. It was delicious and I managed to express the fact. They both started laughing and Brian produced an empty tin that read
US Army Rations
. It was cheap, mass-produced, processed meat meant for soldiers in the field but to me it tasted like a meal from a five star hotel.

Afterwards we had US Army ration biscuits for desert and then Brian made some coffee. To this day I will never forget my first dinner with the Americans, I can taste every morsel even now. Brian and Peter drank more beer after the coffee and Brian's eyes began to close as he drifted to sleep on the floor. Peter took control and brought me some blankets and pillows that he placed on the kitchen floor. He looked apologetic but I did my best to explain that it was fine and more than I could ever have hoped for just a few hours ago. He closed the kitchen door and I searched in my bag for my pyjamas. I washed and cleaned my teeth at the kitchen sink in-between a mountain of dirty dishes, changed and slipped between the blankets as I lay my head on the pillow. I couldn't believe my luck. This was surely better than some freezing cold tent in the middle of a Red Cross Camp.

I slept well but woke in the early hours of the morning, stepping back in time and reliving the events of the day and the night before. At times I couldn't quite believe that I had agreed to accompany two strange men back to their apartment to spend the night and yet I knew I had no choice. At five in the morning I got up. I felt strangely invigorated and refreshed and set about the mountain of dishes as quietly as I could. There were so many it took me about thirty minutes. I packed my blankets and my pillow neatly into the corner, found some cleaning solution under the sink and set about an almost impossible task to put the kitchen back into working order.

It was around 8am when Brian walked through with a look of surprise on his face. I'd made a good job if I say so myself and I shrugged my shoulders as if to say it was the least I could do. I was still working on a greased up bench top as Brian tried to tell me to stop. I wasn't sure what he meant to say. Was he telling me I was wasting my time or simply telling me to take a break for some breakfast? There were eggs in the fridge and sliced bread so I cooked my friends some scrambled eggs and made toast and coffee. They sat at a kitchen table they had probably never seen for a long time and looked more than content. When they had finished, and with the aid of some paper and a pen they indicated that they needed to leave for work but said they would be back soon with the translator, the man we had seen the night before. Brian looked sad. I sensed I would probably have to leave with the translator and he knew it too. Perhaps he had found me alternative accommodation, a tent on a Red Cross Settlement or somewhere the police had arranged.

Before they left they sat me down and said under no circumstances was I to leave the building. It was a strange thing to say as I had no intention of leaving, I felt safe and secure and I had nowhere to go but they were adamant and I remember thinking how serious they both looked. Did they know something I didn't?

And then they were gone. It was quiet and I felt lonely again so I did the only thing I could think of to take my mind off my imminent departure into uncertainty - I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom. I washed dirty uniforms and pressed clean ones and I polished boots and tables and ornaments and I vacuumed the entire place with a frenzy that almost burnt out the motor. I washed rugs and hung them out to dry on the balcony and I even cleaned the toilets.

Just after eleven in the morning they arrived back with the translator, I found out he was called Visar. He looked even more miserable than he had the night before and as I suspected, he told me I couldn't stay with the Americans for another night. While he talked to me I noticed that Brian and Peter were walking around the apartment shaking their heads. They were laughing. Brian picked up his clean pressed uniform and was showing it to Peter, grinning.

“It is time to leave now Laura,” Visor said.

“Where am I going?”

The translator was more than a little evasive and clearly unsure where they were going to put me. I felt strangely at home in my small apartment in a side street in the middle of Pristina even though I had been there less than twelve hours. It was clean and tidy and there was food in the fridge and I almost smiled as I told myself I even had my own two personal bodyguards.

“So where am I going?”

Visor shrugged his shoulders.

“We will take you to the police station and-”

Brian interrupted, I caught a few words and he was clearly questioning him.

“No,” Visor said, “that is out of the question, it would be improper.”

“What is it?” I asked.

Visor sighed.

“He said you should stay here but I won't allow it. It's not right. You're a young girl and they are grown men and if this got out there would be a scandal.”

They were arguing even harder and the two Americans had raised their voices and were clearly intimidating the translator who was flinging his arms around in frustrated animation.

He turned to me.

“I won't allow it. The Americans can't just decide to grant board and lodgings to any girl they like the look of.”

It was clear what he was insinuating but he couldn't have been further from the truth. These men were not like that. Even after such a short time in their company I trusted them with my life. At one point the Americans even stood between us as if preventing him getting to me.

Eventually Visor turned to me.

“I can't stop you from staying here but I warn you, you are making a serious error of judgement.”

I looked at Brian and Peter.

“I'll stay.”

Visor translated my words to Brian and Peter and they broke out into broad beaming smiles as they hugged me spontaneously. Soon after Visor left and I made Brian and Peter some lunch with the groceries they had brought in. We sat around the table grunting out single syllable English words and an odd Albanian phrase and I laughed inwardly at the crazy situation I had found myself in.

During the next few weeks my English improved considerably, learning basic words such as good, help, okay, thank you, son, daughter, friends and one word that cropped up rather too often -
dangerous
. I made a real effort to study the language and when Brian and Peter were out on duty, after I had cleaned and tidied, I made a point of tuning in to the English speaking television and radio stations and practiced stringing sentences together. I also helped Brian and Peter extend their basic Albanian vocabulary and within a month we were holding decent conversations.

During that first month I didn't ventured out of the house. This was because of strict instructions from Brian and Peter. They said it was a lawless Pristina I had ventured into, despite the UN peace keeping troops and they told me in no uncertain terms was I to go out without them. This was quite frustrating because I still hadn't been able to buy a mobile phone. I would text my mother from Brian's cell phone and had a couple of messages back from her but it was a UN issue phone and for some reason the reception wasn't good enough to hold a conversation.

I can recall the day with clarity that they took me to a US army base. It was a bright, sunny day and both Brian and Peter had a day off. We enjoyed an enormous dinner and on the way back we called into a shop where I purchased a cheap mobile phone and a pay as you go SIM card with twenty dollars credit on it. I remember sensing how nervous Brian and Peter seemed as they stood guard, almost like sentries outside the shop, while I waited to be served. I thought nothing of it at the time but those memories would come back and disturb my sleep for many years. If only I had sensed how dangerous the streets of Pristina really were.

It was the longest I had ever gone without hearing my dear mothers words and I broke into tears at the sound of her soft, calming voice. She cried too. She passed me to my father and between the tears I managed to tell him everything was fine and that I was safe and being well looked after. I told him how lucky I had been in finding my American saviours and he was relieved to hear that I wasn't in the middle of a field in a tent in the harsh cKupite of a Kosovan winter. I asked the question I had longed to ask for many weeks -
can I come home?
Nani simply said soon. She explained that the situation was improving and that the borders were now open but things weren't quite back to normal.