PART XVIII
The elderly man had been raving since he'd arrived, picked up from the road after falling almost beneath the wheels of a 'bus. It seemed fairly obvious that his arm and collar bone were broken, but he would allow no-one near him for a proper examination, let alone X-rays. Carter, Haleh and Malik stood and pondered. It was this tableau that caught Abby's eye as she passed.
"What's up?"
"Won't let us near him Doesn't seem to speaka ze English, and I don't recognise the language."
"I do. I think."
"What? What is it?"
"You should get Luka."
"It's Croatian?"
"Similar at least"
"Is he here?"
"Just got in."
"Can you go find him?"
"Sure."
She found him in the lounge. Luka didn't understand why he always felt as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't when she turned up unexpectedly.
"Carter has a problem" Just the one?
"What?"
"He needs an interpreter. I think his patient's from your neck of the woods."
"Show me"
"I meant to call you," she said as they walked. "The flowers were beautiful."
"I'm glad you liked them."
"And the tape. You missed out on it at Christmas - come and watch it with me sometime."
"Did you enjoy your dinner?" Ignoring the invitation.
"I enjoyed watching Carter paying for it." At least that got a smile "In here."
He sat in front of the old man and listened for a moment before saying something to him.. The words seemed to have an almost magical effect and the man stopped shouting and began to respond.
"He has a daughter. You can reach her here." Luka wrote something down and handed the paper to Haleh, before turning his attention back to the patient, who was evidently asking him a question. Following Luka's one word answer the old man leaned in very close and said, a note of disbelief in his voice
"Hrvatska?"
Luka nodded.
"Do you want to take him, because I - " Carter stopped abruptly. As he had been speaking the old man had stood up, drawn back his good arm and delivered a stinging slap to Luka's face.
"Hey!" Carter and Malik stepped forward, but Luka had got to his feet and backed away.
"It's OK. He doesn't want to hurt anyone else. I think you'll have to wait for the daughter though". He made for the door as the man grew agitated once again, hurling what was evidently a stream of invective after Luka.
"What is it?" asked Carter who had followed him. Abby stood where she was, her hand to her mouth.
"He's a Serb," explained Luka, mildly "and he would rather die than permit my filthy Croat hands to touch him." He stopped, listening to the continuing tirade. "And . he wants me dead ," another pause to listen " and he seems to think," he continued, smiling wryly, "that my ancestry includes a number of farm animals and that - no, I don't think I can repeat that in mixed company." He smiled briefly at Abby; looked Carter in the eye. "I think I should probably leave. This is making him worse."
He looked over Carter's head to where the old man still stood and raised his voice to say something before turning and leaving the room. The old man yelled a final phrase at him in which the one word recognisable to Abby was "Vukovar". Carter turned his astonished gaze to Abby; nodded after Luka and then made towards the rapidly subsiding patient. Malik moved forward with him and they pushed him back onto the gurney. Carter was ashamed to feel a little spasm of pleasure as he yelped with pain. And he caught Malik's smile.
"Calm down, Sir, your daughter will be here soon."
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She couldn't follow him into the mens roomof course, but it wasn't easy to look purposeful while she waited for him to come out though. When he did his hair was damp, finger marks still glowing on his cheek.
"Stronger than he looks, eh?" he said with a tight smile.
"I guess so. You OK?"
"Yes. Of course." He stopped. "No, not really."
"Come and get some coffee."
"Aren't you off now?"
"Doesn't matter. Come on." Meekly he allowed her to lead him back to the lounge.
"You did it."
"Did what?"
"The machine."
"Oh. Yes. No-one seems to be drinking the other stuff now."
Abby poured his coffee and sat on the low table opposite his seat on the couch. He didn't speak for a long moment; Abby knew better than to prompt him.
"He said 'Hail to the Victors of Vukovar'. I don't suppose he knew ."
"No."
He gave a short laugh. "Ridiculous. Half way round the world and we run into each other." She smiled sadly. "And somewhere an émigré Croat is cursing a Serb and on it goes --- "
"And at home, too?"
"Home? Oh, not in Croatia, not now. But some places, yes. It won't ever end."
"I'm sorry." She reached out her hand to rest it on his knee. Luka didn't often want to cry; he did now. He took a deep breath.
"Ah, well. There are worse things than being called the son of a couple of syphilitic goats. I suppose.
"I guess so." And you know what they are, don't you?
He smiled at her then and her heart turned to water. "I'd better get back." She moved away from him then and as he left the lounge she said
"Luka."
"Yes?"
"The flowers. They meant a lot. Thank you."
"The least I could do." He lingered for a moment as though he was about to speak. But he said nothing and went on his way. """""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
The temptation to return the slap with all his strength had been fleeting but powerful and had left him ashamed. One pathetic, feeble old man and all his helpless rage had come flooding back.
I'm sorry, sweetheart. He took me by surprise
He'd felt uneasy since talking to Abby at Rosa's. Relieved to have told her, told anyone, really. Still he'd stirred up feelings best left undisturbed. The memory of the weeks he'd spent in the camp he had not revisited in very many years, and was having difficulty putting away now. He was surprised that he could so clearly recollect the sensation of chronic, gnawing hunger, the cold, the pain and the shameful fear of death. He'd thought that he wanted to die after Vukovar, hadn't cared whether he'd died in the shelling of the hospital. There was something soothingly arbitrary and anonymous about that. But faced with the possibility of a gun aimed specifically at him, at Luka Kovac, then he had been afraid. He remembered Bishop Stewart : "I am afraid to die." If Luka was honest he had not been afraid of death; he'd been afraid of dying, afraid that he would not do it well. In the end it had not been asked of him and he had gone from the camp to his father where he had gone on to let himself die anyway.
He had felt a little stab of pride when Abby had come after him, had laid her hand on him. And when he'd been able to talk to her without the cold sickness of self pity clinging to him. He could even smile a little at that. A little.
I'm sorry, sweetheart.
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The coffee at Carter's meeting was worse than the stuff in the lounge. Of course Kovac had good coffee. Carter could not quite bring himself to drink it. There were limits. If he hurried he could get back to County for the end of Luka's shift.
He'd been at once fascinated and appalled by the incident with the old man that morning. Not that he hadn't seen sudden outbursts of violence before. And not only seen them. But the sight of the apparently frail old man hitting Kovac with a force powered by pure loathing had turned his stomach. Kovac had been very calm. He'd seen worse. Of course. And if Abby had been in starting blocks she couldn't have been any readier to follow him out of the room. Carter glanced at his watch. 10.00 pm. He had a feeling that Kovac wouldn't linger tonight. Sure enough, five minutes later he saw him leaving the ER.
"Hey, Luka."
"Carter?"
"You got plans?"
"No."
"Come on. I'm going to buy you a drink."
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"That was pretty wild." Wild?
"It's one word for it." Luka's tone was guarded.
"I mean it's . how many years?"
"Some memories --- linger."
"Seemed pretty personal."
"I guess it felt personal." Luka's veins were starting to sing under the influence of the vodka. "Ten years is nothing." The merest hint of bitterness was detectable to Carter. "For you too?"
"For me too."
"But you didn't . I mean you backed off."
"An old man."
"Packed a punch, though."
"Hatred is a great motivator." They were silent for a long moment. "Vukovar was beautiful" said Luka, suddenly. "Ancient, you know?" He smiled. Just. "All of Croatia is ancient. When I first came here I didn't understand how a building put up a hundred years ago could be called old. The church I was married in was 500 years old."
"You were married in church?"
"Everyone is married in church. After a civil ceremony."
"You were religious?"
Luka shrugged. "As religious as the next man. Then."
"How old were you?"
"20. Danijella was a year younger."
"How long had you known her?"
"What is this? Twenty questions?"
"Just curious."
"Yeah, I'm a curiosity." Another silence.
"At the end the city was . " He stopped. His hands rested on their outer edges, palms facing, a few inches apart. "The houses were . " He lowered his hands gently, one on top of the other, palms downwards. " . .Like houses of cards. Flat. Turned in on themselves. Like someone . stepped on them. Worse further out. Sometimes you could make out little pieces of peoples' lives; furniture, curtains, books. Toys." Carter's eyes moved from Luka's hands to his face. Luka's eyes remained fixed on his hands.
"What happened?"
"What?"
"To your family,"
Luka shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He reached for his glass; found it empty.
"I've got it." In truth Carter didn't want to move from the table. He felt as though threads of unimaginable fragility and strength had wrapped themselves around him, binding him to the man sitting across from him. In the end he asked the barman for the bottle. Luka's raised eyebrows said more than words.
"You trying to get me drunk?"
"Of course." Luka laughed at that. "So?" said Carter.
"Do I have to tell you? I mean . you?"
"Sure you do."
"They died. It's not complicated. An artillery shell, whatever else it is, is not complicated."
"Except?" "I watched them die. Danijella, Jasna. Marko was dead by the time I got there. I saw her born. I saw her die."
"That's hard."
"Harder on them."
"No."
"No?" They're out of it."
"Like Lucy."
"Yeah . like Lucy. There's no way you could have stopped it." If he said it often enough he could convince himself.
"Doesn't help." He looked at Carter then. "Does it?"
"No." He poured another measure into Luka's glass.
"You know I . I really don't drink."
"Maybe you should."
"Alone?"
"Party for one. Sometimes it's the best kind."
"It's not the answer."
"No. Not all the time. Tell me about the hospital."
"What?"
"What?"
"In Vukovar."
"What's to tell?"
"Why did you go there?"
"Where else? My home was gone. There was nowhere else. It was my job."
"Bad?"
"Bad. The basement was the only safe place. No light; no supplies; no hope." He drained his glass. Poured another shot. "Do you have a cigarette?"
"No. I can get some." Luka nodded.
The harsh rasp of the drag felt good in Luka's throat. Already a little light headed from the vodka the nicotine made his head swim.
"I didn't know you smoked."
"I don't." He shrugged then. "I did. Sometimes I just want to . be who I was." Carter nodded. Understood.
"There were people in the hospital," Luka said, "People whose lives we saved. When they came they took them and shot them. I was with a woman who had delivered her baby two days before. They killed her. But they killed her baby first. I did nothing." Carter's blood felt like ice in his veins. "I think she wanted to die then. I know I did."
"What did they do with you?"
"Some of us they shot there and then. The lucky ones. The rest they took to a camp. Brought their wounded to us to treat. To save. I saved them. I didn't know what else to do."
"Have you . told Abby about this?"
"Abby?" Carter nodded.
"Some. It's sort of hard, you know? How do you tell people this?"
"She's strong." Luka shook his head, threw back another shot. "Not that strong. Why should she be? Why should anyone be?"
"Because you are."
Luka's laugh was harsh. "I have no choice."
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Live. Care." A pause. "Love."
"Because," Luka said, deliberately, "Danijella and Jasna and Markro can't live, or care or love. I have to do it for them."
"Well. You need to tell her."
"Who?" He knew who.
"Who do you think? You've been avoiding her."
"I haven't."
"You changed your shifts."
"It's best if she has some space."
"You know she's in love with you."
"I don't know that."
"Open your eyes, Kovac." Carter couldn't keep the edge out of his voice.
"My eyes are open. How clear do you think her feelings are?"
"Clear enough."
"I think she's waiting."
"For what?"
"For you." Carter shook his head. "No. We were . a mistake."
"How?"
"We didn't have the sense to . draw the line. She is in love. With you. You should know that.. Look at me."
Luka didn't.
"Look a t me." Luka's gaze was filled with anxiety.
"Do you love her?"
"Yes." No hesitation there. Carter nodded and put the stopper in the vodka bottle; handed it to Luka.
"Then work out how you're going to make it to the end of August.." He stood up and Luka did the same. Carter was struck afresh by the mans height. "And then - go for it."
Luka regarded him levelly. "And you?"
"Yesterday's man. And woman, actually. I know a done deal when I see one. Let's get you a cab."
As he shut the car door behind Luka he leaned in and said "You know, Kovac?"
"What?"
"I kinda like you."
"OK" said Luka.
The elderly man had been raving since he'd arrived, picked up from the road after falling almost beneath the wheels of a 'bus. It seemed fairly obvious that his arm and collar bone were broken, but he would allow no-one near him for a proper examination, let alone X-rays. Carter, Haleh and Malik stood and pondered. It was this tableau that caught Abby's eye as she passed.
"What's up?"
"Won't let us near him Doesn't seem to speaka ze English, and I don't recognise the language."
"I do. I think."
"What? What is it?"
"You should get Luka."
"It's Croatian?"
"Similar at least"
"Is he here?"
"Just got in."
"Can you go find him?"
"Sure."
She found him in the lounge. Luka didn't understand why he always felt as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't when she turned up unexpectedly.
"Carter has a problem" Just the one?
"What?"
"He needs an interpreter. I think his patient's from your neck of the woods."
"Show me"
"I meant to call you," she said as they walked. "The flowers were beautiful."
"I'm glad you liked them."
"And the tape. You missed out on it at Christmas - come and watch it with me sometime."
"Did you enjoy your dinner?" Ignoring the invitation.
"I enjoyed watching Carter paying for it." At least that got a smile "In here."
He sat in front of the old man and listened for a moment before saying something to him.. The words seemed to have an almost magical effect and the man stopped shouting and began to respond.
"He has a daughter. You can reach her here." Luka wrote something down and handed the paper to Haleh, before turning his attention back to the patient, who was evidently asking him a question. Following Luka's one word answer the old man leaned in very close and said, a note of disbelief in his voice
"Hrvatska?"
Luka nodded.
"Do you want to take him, because I - " Carter stopped abruptly. As he had been speaking the old man had stood up, drawn back his good arm and delivered a stinging slap to Luka's face.
"Hey!" Carter and Malik stepped forward, but Luka had got to his feet and backed away.
"It's OK. He doesn't want to hurt anyone else. I think you'll have to wait for the daughter though". He made for the door as the man grew agitated once again, hurling what was evidently a stream of invective after Luka.
"What is it?" asked Carter who had followed him. Abby stood where she was, her hand to her mouth.
"He's a Serb," explained Luka, mildly "and he would rather die than permit my filthy Croat hands to touch him." He stopped, listening to the continuing tirade. "And . he wants me dead ," another pause to listen " and he seems to think," he continued, smiling wryly, "that my ancestry includes a number of farm animals and that - no, I don't think I can repeat that in mixed company." He smiled briefly at Abby; looked Carter in the eye. "I think I should probably leave. This is making him worse."
He looked over Carter's head to where the old man still stood and raised his voice to say something before turning and leaving the room. The old man yelled a final phrase at him in which the one word recognisable to Abby was "Vukovar". Carter turned his astonished gaze to Abby; nodded after Luka and then made towards the rapidly subsiding patient. Malik moved forward with him and they pushed him back onto the gurney. Carter was ashamed to feel a little spasm of pleasure as he yelped with pain. And he caught Malik's smile.
"Calm down, Sir, your daughter will be here soon."
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She couldn't follow him into the mens roomof course, but it wasn't easy to look purposeful while she waited for him to come out though. When he did his hair was damp, finger marks still glowing on his cheek.
"Stronger than he looks, eh?" he said with a tight smile.
"I guess so. You OK?"
"Yes. Of course." He stopped. "No, not really."
"Come and get some coffee."
"Aren't you off now?"
"Doesn't matter. Come on." Meekly he allowed her to lead him back to the lounge.
"You did it."
"Did what?"
"The machine."
"Oh. Yes. No-one seems to be drinking the other stuff now."
Abby poured his coffee and sat on the low table opposite his seat on the couch. He didn't speak for a long moment; Abby knew better than to prompt him.
"He said 'Hail to the Victors of Vukovar'. I don't suppose he knew ."
"No."
He gave a short laugh. "Ridiculous. Half way round the world and we run into each other." She smiled sadly. "And somewhere an émigré Croat is cursing a Serb and on it goes --- "
"And at home, too?"
"Home? Oh, not in Croatia, not now. But some places, yes. It won't ever end."
"I'm sorry." She reached out her hand to rest it on his knee. Luka didn't often want to cry; he did now. He took a deep breath.
"Ah, well. There are worse things than being called the son of a couple of syphilitic goats. I suppose.
"I guess so." And you know what they are, don't you?
He smiled at her then and her heart turned to water. "I'd better get back." She moved away from him then and as he left the lounge she said
"Luka."
"Yes?"
"The flowers. They meant a lot. Thank you."
"The least I could do." He lingered for a moment as though he was about to speak. But he said nothing and went on his way. """""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
The temptation to return the slap with all his strength had been fleeting but powerful and had left him ashamed. One pathetic, feeble old man and all his helpless rage had come flooding back.
I'm sorry, sweetheart. He took me by surprise
He'd felt uneasy since talking to Abby at Rosa's. Relieved to have told her, told anyone, really. Still he'd stirred up feelings best left undisturbed. The memory of the weeks he'd spent in the camp he had not revisited in very many years, and was having difficulty putting away now. He was surprised that he could so clearly recollect the sensation of chronic, gnawing hunger, the cold, the pain and the shameful fear of death. He'd thought that he wanted to die after Vukovar, hadn't cared whether he'd died in the shelling of the hospital. There was something soothingly arbitrary and anonymous about that. But faced with the possibility of a gun aimed specifically at him, at Luka Kovac, then he had been afraid. He remembered Bishop Stewart : "I am afraid to die." If Luka was honest he had not been afraid of death; he'd been afraid of dying, afraid that he would not do it well. In the end it had not been asked of him and he had gone from the camp to his father where he had gone on to let himself die anyway.
He had felt a little stab of pride when Abby had come after him, had laid her hand on him. And when he'd been able to talk to her without the cold sickness of self pity clinging to him. He could even smile a little at that. A little.
I'm sorry, sweetheart.
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The coffee at Carter's meeting was worse than the stuff in the lounge. Of course Kovac had good coffee. Carter could not quite bring himself to drink it. There were limits. If he hurried he could get back to County for the end of Luka's shift.
He'd been at once fascinated and appalled by the incident with the old man that morning. Not that he hadn't seen sudden outbursts of violence before. And not only seen them. But the sight of the apparently frail old man hitting Kovac with a force powered by pure loathing had turned his stomach. Kovac had been very calm. He'd seen worse. Of course. And if Abby had been in starting blocks she couldn't have been any readier to follow him out of the room. Carter glanced at his watch. 10.00 pm. He had a feeling that Kovac wouldn't linger tonight. Sure enough, five minutes later he saw him leaving the ER.
"Hey, Luka."
"Carter?"
"You got plans?"
"No."
"Come on. I'm going to buy you a drink."
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"That was pretty wild." Wild?
"It's one word for it." Luka's tone was guarded.
"I mean it's . how many years?"
"Some memories --- linger."
"Seemed pretty personal."
"I guess it felt personal." Luka's veins were starting to sing under the influence of the vodka. "Ten years is nothing." The merest hint of bitterness was detectable to Carter. "For you too?"
"For me too."
"But you didn't . I mean you backed off."
"An old man."
"Packed a punch, though."
"Hatred is a great motivator." They were silent for a long moment. "Vukovar was beautiful" said Luka, suddenly. "Ancient, you know?" He smiled. Just. "All of Croatia is ancient. When I first came here I didn't understand how a building put up a hundred years ago could be called old. The church I was married in was 500 years old."
"You were married in church?"
"Everyone is married in church. After a civil ceremony."
"You were religious?"
Luka shrugged. "As religious as the next man. Then."
"How old were you?"
"20. Danijella was a year younger."
"How long had you known her?"
"What is this? Twenty questions?"
"Just curious."
"Yeah, I'm a curiosity." Another silence.
"At the end the city was . " He stopped. His hands rested on their outer edges, palms facing, a few inches apart. "The houses were . " He lowered his hands gently, one on top of the other, palms downwards. " . .Like houses of cards. Flat. Turned in on themselves. Like someone . stepped on them. Worse further out. Sometimes you could make out little pieces of peoples' lives; furniture, curtains, books. Toys." Carter's eyes moved from Luka's hands to his face. Luka's eyes remained fixed on his hands.
"What happened?"
"What?"
"To your family,"
Luka shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He reached for his glass; found it empty.
"I've got it." In truth Carter didn't want to move from the table. He felt as though threads of unimaginable fragility and strength had wrapped themselves around him, binding him to the man sitting across from him. In the end he asked the barman for the bottle. Luka's raised eyebrows said more than words.
"You trying to get me drunk?"
"Of course." Luka laughed at that. "So?" said Carter.
"Do I have to tell you? I mean . you?"
"Sure you do."
"They died. It's not complicated. An artillery shell, whatever else it is, is not complicated."
"Except?" "I watched them die. Danijella, Jasna. Marko was dead by the time I got there. I saw her born. I saw her die."
"That's hard."
"Harder on them."
"No."
"No?" They're out of it."
"Like Lucy."
"Yeah . like Lucy. There's no way you could have stopped it." If he said it often enough he could convince himself.
"Doesn't help." He looked at Carter then. "Does it?"
"No." He poured another measure into Luka's glass.
"You know I . I really don't drink."
"Maybe you should."
"Alone?"
"Party for one. Sometimes it's the best kind."
"It's not the answer."
"No. Not all the time. Tell me about the hospital."
"What?"
"What?"
"In Vukovar."
"What's to tell?"
"Why did you go there?"
"Where else? My home was gone. There was nowhere else. It was my job."
"Bad?"
"Bad. The basement was the only safe place. No light; no supplies; no hope." He drained his glass. Poured another shot. "Do you have a cigarette?"
"No. I can get some." Luka nodded.
The harsh rasp of the drag felt good in Luka's throat. Already a little light headed from the vodka the nicotine made his head swim.
"I didn't know you smoked."
"I don't." He shrugged then. "I did. Sometimes I just want to . be who I was." Carter nodded. Understood.
"There were people in the hospital," Luka said, "People whose lives we saved. When they came they took them and shot them. I was with a woman who had delivered her baby two days before. They killed her. But they killed her baby first. I did nothing." Carter's blood felt like ice in his veins. "I think she wanted to die then. I know I did."
"What did they do with you?"
"Some of us they shot there and then. The lucky ones. The rest they took to a camp. Brought their wounded to us to treat. To save. I saved them. I didn't know what else to do."
"Have you . told Abby about this?"
"Abby?" Carter nodded.
"Some. It's sort of hard, you know? How do you tell people this?"
"She's strong." Luka shook his head, threw back another shot. "Not that strong. Why should she be? Why should anyone be?"
"Because you are."
Luka's laugh was harsh. "I have no choice."
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Live. Care." A pause. "Love."
"Because," Luka said, deliberately, "Danijella and Jasna and Markro can't live, or care or love. I have to do it for them."
"Well. You need to tell her."
"Who?" He knew who.
"Who do you think? You've been avoiding her."
"I haven't."
"You changed your shifts."
"It's best if she has some space."
"You know she's in love with you."
"I don't know that."
"Open your eyes, Kovac." Carter couldn't keep the edge out of his voice.
"My eyes are open. How clear do you think her feelings are?"
"Clear enough."
"I think she's waiting."
"For what?"
"For you." Carter shook his head. "No. We were . a mistake."
"How?"
"We didn't have the sense to . draw the line. She is in love. With you. You should know that.. Look at me."
Luka didn't.
"Look a t me." Luka's gaze was filled with anxiety.
"Do you love her?"
"Yes." No hesitation there. Carter nodded and put the stopper in the vodka bottle; handed it to Luka.
"Then work out how you're going to make it to the end of August.." He stood up and Luka did the same. Carter was struck afresh by the mans height. "And then - go for it."
Luka regarded him levelly. "And you?"
"Yesterday's man. And woman, actually. I know a done deal when I see one. Let's get you a cab."
As he shut the car door behind Luka he leaned in and said "You know, Kovac?"
"What?"
"I kinda like you."
"OK" said Luka.