Summary: Stuck in a reality that is worse than a
nightmare, Luka remembers happy times in his life
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence.
Disclaimer: Still not mine after all those years.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Kendra for prodding me to
write something new. I've gotten lazy lately, and after she said
she wanted to find out more about Luka's past, the wheels and gears
in my brain finally started turning again, although that in
itself is a question to be debated. Also, thanks to my roomie
Minka, my dear "test-reader" of fics against her
will.
Author's note: The flashbacks will alternate with the
story in the even chapters. And if you find this chapter to be confusing,
do not despair - it is meant to be disjointed and confusing. I am
confused myself. I am sick, hot and itchy, and any flames are
nothing compared to the Croatian mosquitos. And I am addicted to
Turkish coffee, so forgive my insanity. ;-)
Author's note part 2: If you are my regular reader, you
know that I suck at posting chapter twos. But hark – chapter
two for this is actually in the works.. really.. I mean that.
Also, I would have posted this sooner, but there was an Internet
outage in the neighborhood where I was staying in Dubrovnik since
the construction workers fucked up the phone lines... We still
have no free Internet, so I have to use insanely expensive
Internet cafes... Also, I found some of the info on the Vukovar
Medical Center on a now defunct website - it's a very sad story
of brave people who held out to the end... :-(
"-Luka-"
What do they want from me? I feel asleep but I know that I am awake. Someone gave me a sedative and I feel lethargic, incredibly tired yet unable to sleep. I wonder why they gave me the sedative. I wonder who they are. I am so confused. Why do I need to go outside when it is so warm under the blanket?
"We need to go." I know this man, but I can't remember his name now. He's a doctor too, he works in pediatrics, I think. He might work in surgery for all I know. I stare at him and wonder why we have to go. He realizes that I am not very coherent and talks slowly, so I can understand.
"I am Drago. Remember me, Luka?" I nod my head, although I don't really remember him. Drago asks me where my coat is. I don't really know. Drago looks around and locates it under the bed. I stare at my sneakers. The left one has a hole in the toe and I can see my sock. I need new shoes. I need a lot of new clothes – my jeans ripped in several places, and my sweater is unwinding because it has a hole in it. Drago finds one more sweater, and makes me put it on, then tells me to put on my lab coat, which is dirty and torn, and then helps me to put on my coat. After he is finished helping me dress, he starts putting things in my pockets – a couple of cigarettes wrapped in a napkin into one, some aspirin into other, a roll of bandages, small things that are not conspicuous if found in one's pocket.
After he is done hiding things in our clothes, Drago helps me up from the bed and we walk somewhere. I have no idea why I am so weak. I remember that I got a light shrapnel wound two days ago. Maybe that's why I'm sedated. I think I didn't sleep for about a week before I got wounded. Someone stitched up the wound, and must have given me the sedative. I think I've slept since the day before yesterday, whichever that day was. And now we are going somewhere, passing empty beds and overturned chairs, our steps echoing in the dreadful silence that seems almost unnatural to my ears after many months of almost constant shelling. This must be the end. The only question in my mind is how many hours I have left to live – I don't particularly want to be alive, but it's still nice to know how long one has left to live.
We walk outside, and I almost stumble when I see the sun – I haven't been outside for a week, and my eyes have grown used to the dim lighting. The situation looks like a barely controlled chaos. Trucks and buses are standing next to military vehicles, patients and medical personnel are mixed, all confused, afraid and tired, surrounded by healthy, well-fed soldiers who pretend not to notice how exhausted and pale their captives look. We are told to go in a different direction from the nurses walking right before us, and walk there, until we come to a young man barely out of his teens, dressed in military fatigues and a semiautomatic slung over his shoulder. A man I remember from the hospital stands next to him and points at certain people. He points at Drago and me as well, and we are told to go to the right, to a bus without a destination, or maybe a final destination for all of its passengers.
When it is my turn to get on the bus I feel dizzy and nearly stumble, but Drago grabs my elbow just in time, and we manage to get into the bus before my legs give out. Drago nearly drags me to a seat in the back of the bus, and while more people get into the bus, he unbuttons my coat and pulls up my sweater to look at the long scrape going down my stomach. I look down at it myself, and in my fuzzy mind, I feel somehow disappointed that the fate missed me again. It's going to leave one hell of a scar, that's for sure. Beside it, I can barely make out a faint scratch that I got two weeks ago from falling on a broken bottle.
"It's healing well. If I am not going to be with you, remember to take the stitches out in a week." I am very thankful to fate that Drago has enough strength to help me, because I feel useless and slow, and I hope that I can repay him somehow. Now that I am not as sluggish, I know who Drago is – a new doctor, just started his internship in surgery this year. He didn't get what he bargained for, that's for sure. By now, both of us can probably operate blindfolded with one hand tied behind the back and standing on one leg – we have had experience to last us a lifetime. If I get out of this alive, maybe I'll stop being a doctor, get some new job, one that involves little to no blood. I think I've seen enough blood for a lifetime too. Maybe go back to the university, become a science teacher, and forget everything about the wasted years, start a new life and remember the old one on cold rainy days...
One of the soldiers on the bus waves to someone and the unseen driver closes the door. The bus engine rumbles and soon, the ruins of the hospital disappear behind the corner. I press my face to the glass and stare at the ruined streets as pass by. The bus moves slowly, because the road is covered with bricks and full of people with suitcases, some wearing winter jackets over their pajamas, their faces gray and scared. At one intersection, the bus comes to a halt and one of the soldiers jumps out to talk to an officer standing by a burned out store. I stare at the people moving by, exhausted women carrying backpacks laden with family photos and winter clothes, clutching the hands of their sleepy children. A little girl walks after her mother, who has her hands full with a baby and a heavy suitcase. I know this little girl well – I treated her for compound fracture of her leg last year, and she remembers me well, despite being so young. Her name is Lara, and she calls me "Doctor Luka." Lara's curly hair is not brushed and sticks out in every possible direction and her brother's jacket too big for her, almost reaching to the ground. Lara looks up just as she and her mother are passing the bus, and recognizes me, her face brightened by a smile.
"Doctor Luka!" she shrieks and runs towards the bus in her innocence, not understanding that there is war, or that there is a barrier separating us. A soldier hurries to her side and grabs her, holding her in the air, asking loudly – "Whose child?" Lara starts crying, trying to get out of his arms and looking at me, screams my name, holding her hands out to me, not understanding why she can't go and ask me for candy. Her mother, Lidija drops the suitcase and runs to reclaim Lara, her baby now also crying. Lara kicks her feet out, trying to get the soldier to release her, but he holds on to her, his face expressionless as he stares at a small girl in an oversized jacket crying in his arms. He sees Lidija, yells something at her and puts Lara down. As soon as Lara is set down on earth, she attempts to go to the bus again, but Lidija grabs on to her hand and almost drags her away, looking at me sorrowfully, the absence of her son and husband saying it all.
I watch Lidija struggle with a suitcase and two crying children on a brick-covered street while an indifferent officer in a brand new uniform looks on, unable to help her, unable to help myself, and feel awful – broken, exhausted, washed out. I slump forward, lean my head against the seat and let myself cry. Drago grasps my shoulder and asks me what is wrong, but I don't answer, and just sob quietly into the dirty fabric of the seat in front of me, wanting to fall asleep and never wake up again, or wake up to find out that all of this had been merely a dream. Drago squeezes my shoulder, and I look up to see tears rolling down his face as well. I follow his gaze and see the buildings burning – everything is burning, my life is burning, my past is burning, and perhaps my future is burning too.
The soldier climbs back on the bus and it slowly drives off again. He walks down the center of the bus, his young face hardened and cold, writing down names on a piece of paper. He stops next to our seat. Drago mutters: "Doctor Dragomir Meinl and Doctor Luka Kovac." The young man writes it down and proceeds down the aisle. I stop crying and just stare at my knees, at the strangely out-of-place tear on the knee that reminds me of my youthful taste in clothes, which my mother described as "caught under lawnmover," since everything I wore was fashionably ragged...
The loud, continuous beeping of a horn distracts me from contemplating my life story and I look up just to see a burning car that looks exactly like the one Janko used to own. Although I know that Janko is many kilometers away and is safe, I can't help but worry about him. We used to be inseparable, Janko and I but now I am far, far away from him, and have no idea if I ever will see him again...