PART XX
The insistent whine of an electric drill pulled Luka out of sleep. For a moment he wondered whether the sound might actually be in his head; vodka in quantity can do that to a person. No. One or other of his neighbours was evidently in full DIY mode, and it was clearly going to be pointless trying to get back to sleep. Get up, Luka
The shower was too hot for comfort as he stood, arms braced against the wall in front of him, willing his head to clear. He wondered whether Abby and Carter had colluded in a plan to drink vicariously through him. Well, he didn't mind obliging occasionally, as long as they agreed to have the vicarious hangover in return.
Clean, shaved, dressed and he felt halfway human. The coffee helped. Thank God he wasn't at work until seven.
He was a little unsettled by what he'd allowed himself to divulge to Carter; he nursed a vague sense of having devalued something. Had he?
What do you think, sweetheart?
Get out, get out of doors. Walk.
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" By the time he'd made his way down to the lakeside the sense of disquiet nagging at him had crystallised into something like panic. Abby. This was about Abby. Luka didn't blush easily but he could feel the colour in his face as he thought about what Carter had said. "You know she's in love with you." Is she? He knew that she'd been mending fences, trying to find a way to forgive herself, and him, for their failure. She'd told him things about herself which he suspected only a very few people in her life had known. It occurred to him now that possibly no-one had ever known as much about her as he now knew, maybe not even herself. And he realised too that she knew more about him than any living soul.
So. She trusted him; she liked him, maybe even loved him. But this was not the same as being in love, was it? Was it? He didn't know; didn't know how to read her, cursed himself for this illiteracy. He'd never had to do this before. Danijella and he had looked at each other with instantaneous recognition. After she'd been lost to him he hadn't even tried. Carol had confused him, changing their relationship to something more than friendship, unaware of the harm she had the power to do. And then thought better of it. Abby he had never understood, and he now knew why. He'd been trying to use a map with almost all of its major landmarks missing from it, and in trying to navigate with it had become hopelessly lost. Well, the map was more complete now but he no longer had any idea of what he was expected to do with it. Was he supposed to look at it as a reminder of a place he'd once been, only now fully appreciating the landscape? Or was he expected to use it to revisit that landscape, prepared for the obstacles and cliff faces which had defeated him before.
God alone knew, and He wasn't telling.
He was cold. A feeble January sun struggled to make its presence felt. He'd grown up in the sunshine, his brother and him, their friends, like sunflowers, unstoppable. He'd married in the summer; Jasna and Marko were spring babies The cold had kept memory at bay, had mirrored the state of his soul; he'd grown to welcome it. Now he wasn't so sure and got to his feet, started to walk, wanting to feel the blood flowing.
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
Bosnia had been as cold as hell, almost medieval in its lack of amenities, of supplies, of hope. He'd gone there with the vague hope of regaining a sense of perspective and it hadn't taken him long to achieve it. In the years since the war it seemed that the place had settled into a kind of dull hopelessness, as though despair and misery had seeped into the earth beneath his feet. The group of medics with whom he'd been working had instinctively drawn together, looking to each other for the spark of normality it was so easy to lose sight of there. A couple of Austrians, a German, two British, an Argentinian; and Irma. Irma was from Norway and as used to the cold as he'd once been used to the warmth of the sun.
He'd fallen into an easy friendship with her, surprised himself at the ease with which they'd grown comfortable with each other. The place did that, he thought, set you to grabbing little bits of warmth, of humanity. He'd appreciated her pale, slender good looks, her intelligence; she'd been quick to laugh and it had dawned on him slowly that her smile changed a little for him, became a little warmer, her laughter a little softer. Her eyes sought him out, held his gaze, an unasked question there. And he was beginning to consider his answer.
If the idea of learning to tango in the depths of a Balkan winter had seemed too ridiculous to contemplate no-one dared say so to Eduardo Henriques, the Argentinian who propounded the plan with evangelical zeal. There were more men than women in their party and Luka had offered to sit out the exercise; Irma was having none of it. In the end they had all laughed 'til they cried; pupils in winter coats and boots presented Eduardo with unlooked for problems, but his enthusiasm was infectious and Luka could now say that, yes, he could tango. He would probably have to put on several layers of clothing to recreate the right conditions if ever he wanted to do it again, but, still, there it was. Irma had staked her claim to him immediately. Her body against his, even through the sweaters and coats, had felt good, the promise it held unmistakable, her longing for him palpable. But his consideration of whether to take her up on it had been a purely intellectual exercise. He didn't want her. And thinking about it now, remembering how, as their time together neared its end her eyes had reproached him, full of disappointed desire, he knew why it had never been a real possibility.
He was spoken for.
And that was it. He stopped, looked out over the water. In the end it didn't matter what the precise nature of Abby's feelings were; the precise nature of his own were very clear to him and he had to be true to them. Whatever else happened she had entrusted herself to him; he could not un- know what she had told him. She'd given him the map and he would use it. would be there when she needed a hand onto firmer ground; would withdraw when she needed to proceed alone across the landscape now facing her, would give directions if asked. If she loved him that was enough; he was not about court madness worrying about the nature of that love.
Luka decided he was tired of being cold and turned toward home.
The insistent whine of an electric drill pulled Luka out of sleep. For a moment he wondered whether the sound might actually be in his head; vodka in quantity can do that to a person. No. One or other of his neighbours was evidently in full DIY mode, and it was clearly going to be pointless trying to get back to sleep. Get up, Luka
The shower was too hot for comfort as he stood, arms braced against the wall in front of him, willing his head to clear. He wondered whether Abby and Carter had colluded in a plan to drink vicariously through him. Well, he didn't mind obliging occasionally, as long as they agreed to have the vicarious hangover in return.
Clean, shaved, dressed and he felt halfway human. The coffee helped. Thank God he wasn't at work until seven.
He was a little unsettled by what he'd allowed himself to divulge to Carter; he nursed a vague sense of having devalued something. Had he?
What do you think, sweetheart?
Get out, get out of doors. Walk.
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" By the time he'd made his way down to the lakeside the sense of disquiet nagging at him had crystallised into something like panic. Abby. This was about Abby. Luka didn't blush easily but he could feel the colour in his face as he thought about what Carter had said. "You know she's in love with you." Is she? He knew that she'd been mending fences, trying to find a way to forgive herself, and him, for their failure. She'd told him things about herself which he suspected only a very few people in her life had known. It occurred to him now that possibly no-one had ever known as much about her as he now knew, maybe not even herself. And he realised too that she knew more about him than any living soul.
So. She trusted him; she liked him, maybe even loved him. But this was not the same as being in love, was it? Was it? He didn't know; didn't know how to read her, cursed himself for this illiteracy. He'd never had to do this before. Danijella and he had looked at each other with instantaneous recognition. After she'd been lost to him he hadn't even tried. Carol had confused him, changing their relationship to something more than friendship, unaware of the harm she had the power to do. And then thought better of it. Abby he had never understood, and he now knew why. He'd been trying to use a map with almost all of its major landmarks missing from it, and in trying to navigate with it had become hopelessly lost. Well, the map was more complete now but he no longer had any idea of what he was expected to do with it. Was he supposed to look at it as a reminder of a place he'd once been, only now fully appreciating the landscape? Or was he expected to use it to revisit that landscape, prepared for the obstacles and cliff faces which had defeated him before.
God alone knew, and He wasn't telling.
He was cold. A feeble January sun struggled to make its presence felt. He'd grown up in the sunshine, his brother and him, their friends, like sunflowers, unstoppable. He'd married in the summer; Jasna and Marko were spring babies The cold had kept memory at bay, had mirrored the state of his soul; he'd grown to welcome it. Now he wasn't so sure and got to his feet, started to walk, wanting to feel the blood flowing.
"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
Bosnia had been as cold as hell, almost medieval in its lack of amenities, of supplies, of hope. He'd gone there with the vague hope of regaining a sense of perspective and it hadn't taken him long to achieve it. In the years since the war it seemed that the place had settled into a kind of dull hopelessness, as though despair and misery had seeped into the earth beneath his feet. The group of medics with whom he'd been working had instinctively drawn together, looking to each other for the spark of normality it was so easy to lose sight of there. A couple of Austrians, a German, two British, an Argentinian; and Irma. Irma was from Norway and as used to the cold as he'd once been used to the warmth of the sun.
He'd fallen into an easy friendship with her, surprised himself at the ease with which they'd grown comfortable with each other. The place did that, he thought, set you to grabbing little bits of warmth, of humanity. He'd appreciated her pale, slender good looks, her intelligence; she'd been quick to laugh and it had dawned on him slowly that her smile changed a little for him, became a little warmer, her laughter a little softer. Her eyes sought him out, held his gaze, an unasked question there. And he was beginning to consider his answer.
If the idea of learning to tango in the depths of a Balkan winter had seemed too ridiculous to contemplate no-one dared say so to Eduardo Henriques, the Argentinian who propounded the plan with evangelical zeal. There were more men than women in their party and Luka had offered to sit out the exercise; Irma was having none of it. In the end they had all laughed 'til they cried; pupils in winter coats and boots presented Eduardo with unlooked for problems, but his enthusiasm was infectious and Luka could now say that, yes, he could tango. He would probably have to put on several layers of clothing to recreate the right conditions if ever he wanted to do it again, but, still, there it was. Irma had staked her claim to him immediately. Her body against his, even through the sweaters and coats, had felt good, the promise it held unmistakable, her longing for him palpable. But his consideration of whether to take her up on it had been a purely intellectual exercise. He didn't want her. And thinking about it now, remembering how, as their time together neared its end her eyes had reproached him, full of disappointed desire, he knew why it had never been a real possibility.
He was spoken for.
And that was it. He stopped, looked out over the water. In the end it didn't matter what the precise nature of Abby's feelings were; the precise nature of his own were very clear to him and he had to be true to them. Whatever else happened she had entrusted herself to him; he could not un- know what she had told him. She'd given him the map and he would use it. would be there when she needed a hand onto firmer ground; would withdraw when she needed to proceed alone across the landscape now facing her, would give directions if asked. If she loved him that was enough; he was not about court madness worrying about the nature of that love.
Luka decided he was tired of being cold and turned toward home.