The Devil Couldn't Break Me (8 page)

“We will come to see you soon,” she said. “You must text the address and we will get there somehow.”

I shed more tears as I said my goodbyes all too soon. It was strange, it was as if I had ran out of conversation despite not speaking to them for so long but I hung on Nani's final words that we would meet up soon.

During the coming weeks the tension appeared to ease a little and I ventured out with Brain and Peter quite a lot, but always in the car. We returned to the Army base several times and even went to dinner with some of their friends. As each new excursion passed without incident I convinced myself I'd be returning home soon and everything would be as I remembered as a small girl. There would be no war and no Serb soldiers and Veliki Trnovac would still be the beautiful place near the mountains that I loved so much.

Two weeks after that first phone call with my parents my phone rang very early one morning and my mother announced that her and my father were on a bus that had left Veliki Trnovac two hours earlier heading for Pristina. I was so excited and couldn't wait to tell Brian and Peter. Nani had said the journey would only take an hour more at the most and I begged Brian and Peter to somehow get the day off work so we could all eat together. I was so grateful, and yes, proud of my American friends and I so wanted my parents to meet them. I owed them so much, they couldn't begin to understand how much I loved them, they were like brothers to me. They telephoned their base and somehow managed to convince their commanding officer that they couldn't make it in that day. There was a slight problem in that I couldn't explain to my parents where it was we actually lived but Peter telephoned Visor who in turn called my mother and guided her to a road where we could all meet up safely. It was such an emotional meeting as we hugged and cried together. Eventually we managed to prise ourselves apart and I introduced the two American soldiers to my beautiful parents. We climbed in the UN Jeep and drove the short distance to our apartment in Pristina.

Nani had cooked her favourite dish,
Sarma
, a cabbage marinated in mincemeat and spices and wasted no time in making herself at home in the kitchen. She put the huge dish in the oven and turned it up high that crisped the top of the cabbage and mince just perfectly and she served it as Brian and Peter brought out some wine and of course a few beers. I acted as a very poor, but I suppose adequate translator. It was an altogether perfect day, the war could have been a million kilometres away and my father constantly thanked Brian and Peter for looking after me, almost to the point of embarrassment. As we were almost finished I handed Agi a photograph of the soldiers and said he could keep it. Agi looked at it for a few seconds and then cried as he slipped it into his jacket pocket.

There were more tears at the dinner table that day when Nani announced that my cousin, Agim, had been shot and killed at an army checkpoint. I had been very close to him, almost like brother and sister and I cried for some time while Brian and Peter tried to console me. Agi said he had been killed in his car - shot dead at close distance by automatic gunfire and he also said that many people had simply disappeared.

Agim was a businessman and it all seemed so senseless, he wasn't a threat to anyone. Agi said the soldiers who had killed him wore white sneakers... training shoes. I frowned.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I said.

Agi shrugged his shoulders. Brian nodded as if he knew exactly what Agi was inferring.

“What?” I asked.

Brian said that it wasn't just politicians and soldiers who had orchestrated and kept the conflicts running. Serbia and Kosovo and the rest of the autonomous regions were being overrun by lawless gangs hell bent on making money from the many wars that had broken out, claiming they were behind a cause.

“It has been the same since the word war was first coined,” Peter said. “During the second world war most Nazis were more interested in growing rich than anything Hitler, Goebbels or Himmler proposed. There was more gold and art treasures stolen, stored or filtered through places like the Vatican and Switzerland than at any stage in history.”

Agi was nodding his head as I translated exactly what Peter was saying.

“He's right,” Agi said, “it's been said that it's the rich that wage war while the poor die.”

I translated again.

Brian nodded.

“So true. Every war in history is undertaken for the acquisition of wealth. There are no exceptions.”

I sat back in my seat exasperated and it hit me hard. This was why my father had sent me away, this was why Uncle Demir had given over his life savings and this was why Brian and Peter had almost kept me prisoner for the last two months. They feared for my safety. The men who had taken us to the mountain and had been ready to kill us were in it for the money, nothing more. The soldiers in the white sneakers... it somehow started to become clear.

As I helped Nani clear the dishes and she produced a bag of sweet pastries I asked her when it would be safe to come home.

“Listen to your father,” she said. “Listen to your American friends. You can come home when it is safe to do so and not before.”

Brian was standing in the doorway. It was almost as if he had understood every word my mother had just said.

“And promise me you'll never leave this place without me.”

I looked up and smiled as a pleasant shiver ran the length of my spine.

“I promise. I promise.”

Taken

I was in the bathroom getting showered and then dried when I overheard a conversation between Brian and Peter. They never normally talked about the politics inside the four walls of the apartment and in general I never asked. It was almost as if they had pulled down an invisible shield to protect me from the evils just outside the front door. But this morning I opened the door slightly and listened.

Brian was saying that by now the K.L.A. were thousands strong. They had detention camps in Albania in the towns of Durres, Vlore and Kukes. He said he'd heard stories that some of these detention centres were more sinister than they looked from the outside. The Kukes detention facility was a key supply point for the KLA during the conflict and the UN had been asked to investigate rumours that as many as fifty people had been tortured and murdered while they were detained by the KLA in Durres.

Peter mentioned one of the commanders; a man by the name of Azem Kupi who it was said mistreated and tortured prisoners there. He said he had more information from an escapee that Kupi had also abducted Kosovan Serbs in northern Albania and sent them to concentration camp called Daphne in Drenica, where he allegedly participated in the executions and torture of the non-Albanian population, removing their organs and selling them on the black market.

I took a sharp intake of breath. I remembered
‘Arsal the Exaggerator'
had mentioned something about people's organs being removed too. I laughed to myself. Surely Arsal's tall tales could not have reached this far?

Brian had been busy in the kitchen by the time I had dressed. He was standing over by the cooker and served some eggs and beans onto three plates. He'd made a pot of coffee and made me sit at the table while he served me my breakfast.

I had had a soft spot for Brian from the moment I set eyes on him and living in such close proximity to him for many weeks it was inevitable that my feelings would develop even further. Brian was a single man and during the whole time I stayed in the apartment there was not one single mention of a girlfriend back home in the States or indeed a girl here in Pristina. Neither Peter or Brian ever brought any girls round to the apartment and I knew that to be strange in itself as there was plenty talk about the local prostitutes and their American colleagues in the military camp and what they got up to in their spare time.

The chemistry developed between us, it was truly magical and whereas Peter was undoubtedly my hero, our relationship was always like brother and sister or even father and daughter like. I was very tearful in those first few weeks, having never been away from my home or my family before and Peter would reach out for me and hold me for hours, wiping away the tears that ran down my face. I felt so comfortable in Peter's arms but there was never any question of it going any further. With Brian it was different and I purposely avoided any intimacy with him as I suspected where that might lead. Nevertheless, there were lots of occasions where we would be thrown close to each other, like sitting together on the sofa watching TV or within touching distance of each other in the tiny kitchen, washing a few dishes or tidying up and as the weeks turned into months the sparks undoubtedly began to ignite. At times it was almost as if a surge of electricity passed between us.

One day I had a crazy idea to try one of their uniforms on. As you can imagine they were too big for me but it all seemed a great laugh at the time. Both Peter and Brian were in their respective bedrooms, working on their computers and I had the notion to march into their rooms saluting, giving them a little laugh. They'd had a particularly long, hard day and I wanted to cheer them up. I had almost finished when I noticed Brian standing in the doorway and I was most embarrassed. I had been caught before I'd been able to perform my act.

“I'm so sorry,” I said, “I'll take it off.”

“
Jo Jo Jo une te ndihmoj
.” he said which means No no no I'll help you.

He walked over and reached for the belt around my waist and as he tightened it and rearranged the jacket I couldn't stop looking at his face. The smell of his aftershave mixed with his natural body odour was intoxicating to me and it was almost as if someone had flicked a switch inside me. I couldn't take my eyes from him.

“What's wrong?”

He noticed me staring.

“I don't know,” I said, “I've never felt this way about a man before.”

As soon as the words tumbled out of my mouth I wanted to take them back but I couldn't and the way I looked at him left him under no illusion that I had felt an enormous attraction to him. It was an awkward moment. He raised his blue magnetic eyes and smiled his beautiful perfect smile and said
Shume mir,
which means very good. It didn't even make sense. He placed his fingertip on my lips as if telling me not to say anything else. By that point I was emotional and feeling weak at the knees and it took all my willpower and strength to turn around and walk away. I was falling hopelessly in love with Brian as much as I wanted to fight it. He reminded me of my first love back in Veliki Trnovac, a beautiful boy called Orhan. These were the same feelings I had experienced back then... even at nine years of age!

“I'll show Peter.”

That was all I could think to say as I walked in the direction of his room, my heart pounding out of my chest.

As soon as Peter saw the oversize uniform hanging from my skinny frame he thought it was a great laugh and started taking pictures as I saluted him. He placed the blue beret on my head and even painted a little moustache on me as he tried to teach me the military way of standing at ease, and then to attention. That awkward moment with Brian had passed and I breathed a sigh of relief.

After a little time I went to take off the uniform. Brian stepped forward to help with the fiddly belt as Peter wandered back to his bedroom. I remember leaning against Brian while he unbuckled the belt in the hope he would hug me and is if by magic he did and I melted into his arms as he held me so tight, sighing quietly. After a few minutes we parted and as he looked into my eyes he put his hands on my face and kissed both cheeks allowing his lips to linger and drift across my skin. I was so lost in that tender moment and desperately wanted to kiss him. So I returned his kisses on his cheek, but dangerously close to his lips in the hope I would get a positive response. Brian closed his eyes and searched for my lips with his. He kissed me so tenderly, his lips so soft and I was frozen in heaven as our kissing became more passionate and he hugged me tighter and tighter as we fought for breath. I wanted the moment to last forever especially as his lips moved to my neck but then as quickly as it had started he stopped, taking my hands in his and kissing both of them in turn. Then he simply walked away.

It was inevitable that we would kiss again and we did at every given opportunity when we found ourselves alone. On one occasion we managed to sleep together in his room though we both made a vow that nothing sexual could or would happen. I lay semi naked next to Brian and we caressed each other and then fell asleep as he held me in his arms all night.

A few days later Peter and Brian sat me down and said I would have to go. I was in shock and more than confused. I wanted to tell Brian that I never wanted to leave him but of course I couldn't because Peter was there and I assumed he knew nothing of our intimate embrace. Peter appeared very rational and explained that the UN had found out about our arrangement which was very much against the rules. Brian sat on the corner of the sofa quietly nodding but said nothing.

The atmosphere over the coming days was very strained and I longed for Brian to take me in his arms and tell me he'd worked something out so that we could be together but he never did. I couldn't understand it, Brian was a single man and although there was a bit of an age gap we were very much alike in personality and our outlook on life. I put two and two together and assumed he didn't have the same feelings for me as I had for him.

To make matters worse, when I phoned Nani and asked her if I could come home she said categorically no. Things still hadn't returned to normal and under no circumstances was I to attempt a return. I cried myself to sleep in the kitchen that night and woke up early the next morning with the headache from hell. Two days prior, in Brian's arms I had been the happiest girl in the world and now I felt I was about to lose him forever. There were dozens of questions flying around my head, not least, where would I stay, when could I return home but the worst question banging around my head like a big bass drum was would I ever see Brian again. The thought terrified me.

I cooked Brian and Peter scrambled eggs for breakfast then I drank coffee but ate nothing. The thought of food made me feel sick. We had breakfast in silence but a couple of times I asked Brian and Peter where I would go. They didn't know, they said they would contact the translator and he would sort something out. I looked out of the window and the rain and sleet hammered against the glass windowpane which depressed me even further. It was still winter, albeit towards the end of the season and I knew that conditions in the UN refugee camps, in those canvass tents, were hell on earth. No heating, damp and miserable with a cold water shower block and one or two toilets for a hundred people or more. As my mind played tricks with me and I thought of the very worst scenario I burst into tears.

Peter tried to comfort me.

“Hey Laura, don't be silly we won't throw you out into the street. We'll make sure you are safe and if you don't like where they put you, you can always come back.”

I looked at Brian expecting a nod or a smile, but he sat there in silence. I noticed his omelette hadn't been touched. I wanted to reach out and touch him, I wanted to say ‘te dua shume,'
be mine forever
and I felt my heart breaking apart.

Soon after they changed into their uniforms and got ready to leave. Just before they did there was yet another power cut and I lit a few candles. It was becoming an almost daily occurrence and although it was daylight it was still a dark gloomy morning.

As Brian walked towards the front door he turned to face me.

“Don't be going outside,” he said. “Wait until we get back, we'll work something out.”

I moved towards him and gave him a hug. He didn't respond at all. I wanted him to smile, I wanted him to take me in his arms and hold me, I wanted him to kiss me. Instead he pushed me away and reached for his blue beret on a hook by the door and disappeared into the gloom of the corridor. How could he have been so cold? As the door closed I burst into tears again.

By midday the electricity still wasn't on. I couldn't wash, I couldn't vacuum, I couldn't even watch any television or turn the radio on. Eventually I decided I had to get out of there. I was bored rigid and sad and depressed and confused and craved some fresh air and a change of scenery. There was a newspaper kiosk less than five metres from the building. I'd buy a magazine. What was the worst that could happen in five metres? I'd buy a magazine and be upstairs back in the apartment within a few minutes.

I took my coat from the stand by the doorway and opened the door. I was nervous. For three months I had not left the apartment unaccompanied and as I walked into the lift I noticed in the mirror that I was breathing quite hard. I told myself not to be so stupid. This was a UN safe area, I was buying a newspaper from a kiosk less than ten seconds from our front entrance, not making my way to the other side of the city.

“Don't be so silly,” I mumbled to myself as I walked through the interior doors and walked towards the door that led to the main street.

The street was quite busy which put me at ease a little, people were going about their normal business and I noticed the small newspaper kiosk almost immediately as I buttoned up my coat against the biting wind and took a step forward. I fumbled for the loose change in my pocket and skirted a parked car which for some reason had stopped on the pavement. I thought it unusual and yet we were living in the middle of a troubled city and parking fines were the last things on anyone's mind.

The kiosk was quiet, the vendor and just one other person. A black van drove towards the kiosk and stopped on the pavement to the left side of me blocking my way. This was ridiculous I thought. Why is everyone parking on the pavement? I looked down the street. There were plenty of parking spaces; the driver didn't need to stop there. Suddenly the van lurched forward and came careering towards me and I jumped back as I thought it was about to hit me.

“What the-”

In an instant it screeched to a halt and the side door was flung open violently as two men leaped onto the pavement and ran towards me. One of them was holding something, something black and as he grabbed me he forced a hood over my head. I screamed for help as time seemed to stand still. I could hear the noise of the traffic and the hustle and bustle of a normal city street and I heard a scream that quickly died away and I heard one of the men swearing at me in Albanian with a Kosovan dialect. What was going on? Surely they had made a mistake? Suddenly I was off my feet and had no control of where I was going. I was up in the air... flying, and I winced as my upper body connected with the hard floor of the bottom of the van and sheer terror coursed through my veins as I heard the door slam shut and the driver laughing as he pushed the vehicle into gear and sped away.

“We've got her. We've got the fucking bitch.”

They were laughing, the driver, the two kidnappers and another voice from the rear of the van. I felt a blow to the side of my head.

“Fucking spy whore.”

I was trembling, shivering with fear trying to get my breath and longed for words that would not form in my mouth. It was as if I had turned into a mute. I wanted to beg for my life, protest my innocence, tell these men they had made a mistake and they had the wrong person but my mouth was as dry as a bone and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.