I feel that there have been assholes one every side of the conflict. Some sides had more, some less. But there were also people who did not hate, who saw the madness for what it was. It is to the survivors and to those people that I want to say how much I respect them.
Chapter Three - "1991 – Despair
I think I will hate corn if I will remain alive to see it again. I have seen enough cornfields in the last couple of days to last me a lifetime. They were not the vibrant green I remember them to be, but an ugly grayish yellow, almost melding into the gray winter sky that looms over everything. The dark gray clouds cover the weak winter sun, and everything is bleak, just like our future. It is at times like these that you become aware that your future becomes drastically short, and you are not sure if it will last one year or one minute. This kind of outlook doesn't do much to improve your worldview, I might add, as you're spending all of your time hoping that you will live long enough to go to sleep and wake up the next day.
I've become more lucid and aware of my surroundings, although I'd rather preferred being drugged up. I don't have any painkillers and my belly feels like someone has been stabbing me with a scalpel all day. I've resorted to chewing on the sleeve of my coat to stop myself from screaming. My coat tastes like stale bread. I got hungry yesterday and ate a chewing gum wrapper and an aspirin. It helped a bit. They let us out of the bus for ten minutes an hour ago and after me and Drago took care of business, as someone called it in some American movie, we stuffed some corn leaves in our pockets to chew on later.
The soldiers on the bus have changed, and now the man in charge is a perversely cheerful major who lets people talk when he is in a good mood. But if he's in the bad mood, you'd better not breathe. He got some bad news from some soldiers who waved us down, and when someone in the front sneezed he hit the man in the face with his gun so hard he broke his nose. But later the major drank some alcohol and ate a sandwich, and was in such a good mood that he let me take a look at the man.
The man turns out to be a kid barely out of school. His face is covered with blood and he has been trying not to cry and failing. I squeeze in between him and the guy sharing the seat with him and take a look. On the first glance it doesn't look too bad, because the nose is still mostly pointing the right way, and as my sister the nurse would say, if it's still attached, it won't fall off.
What's your name? I whisper, palpating his face. Thankfully, he'll be okay. Perhaps he's going to have a crooked nose but the facial bones are not fractured, so he is no immediate medical danger.
he gets out shakily, sounding just like a scared young kid he is. I manage not to shiver when I hear my son's name.
I'm Luka. You'll be fine. Does it hurt when you try to breathe through your nose?
A liddle bid... He tries to do it but winces, blood gushing from his nose again and soaking the chewed-up sleeve of my coat. I find a handkerchief in my pocket and give it to him to hold against his nose to stop the fow of blood. While the soldiers are not looking, I slip an aspirin tablet into his hand and check his teeth just in case. All of them are thankfully there, so he's definitely going to be fine.
Swallow the aspirin and try to breathe through your nose occasionally. If you have trouble breathing, tell it to me or Drago there later. We're both doctors. Marko nods and grasps my hand with his own, shaking it weakly. I attempt a smile, let the soldier in front of the bus know that I am done and walk back to my seat. I sit down next to Drago, who's been poking a hole in the seat in front of him to pass time.
How's the guy? he asks, continuing the destruction of the seat.
He'll live. I think he has a simple nasal fracture that'll heal on its own, more or less." Drago makes a sound I interpret as "good," and I sit back and watch the hole in the seat grow bigger and bigger. The bus continues on its way into nowhere, and soon it becomes dark outside. The silence in the bus is interrupted by stifled coughs and sniffles - half of us are not even wearing seasonal closing, so many managed to get sick already. I lean my head on Drago's shoulder and try to get comfortable, which is hard, since Drago's just as tall and skinny as I am. He tries to put his head on my shoulder at that moment and we manage to knock our heads together.
Are you trying to knock my teeth out? he wonders out loud and I roll my eyes. After some repositioning, I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. The bus continues to drive deep into the maze of cornfields, and I am left to wonder how long I have to live. The bus can stop at any time, and the cheerful major can take great pleasure in shooting us one by one. I wonder if the bus will ever stop, or if we will go on forever through gray cornfields, never stopping, going in an never-ending circle, a merry-go-round of purgatory on earth.
We spend the night dozing off and jerking awake every time the bus slows down. I manage to fall asleep towards the morning, but just as I am dreaming of swimming in the sea on a hot day, the bus jerks to a stop and I wake up. The cheerful major is still cheerful this morning. Two young men with semiautomatics command everyone to get off the bus, and we stumble outside, greedily breathing in cold winter air. More soldiers arrive, and we are ordered to walk into a building. I follow Drago and we walk quietly with our hands clasped behind our heads until we reach a door where a young soldier motions us to step inside a room. After several more men come in, the soldier shoves in a bucket and a bag, and leaves, locking the door.
There is eight of us in the room. I recognize Marko, the kid with the broken nose who has my son's name, but don't know the other ones. We introduce ourselves and start talking, trying to quell our fears by forming some sort of relationship with the others who are stuck in the same circle of hell. Most of us are in our twenties – only Marko and Mile are not. The twins Kristijan and Marijan are not sure where their sister is. Marko's parents are dead. Only Bojan and Mile will have a place to live in Vukovar if we ever leave here. Drago and Branko have family elsewhere and they are worried about their parents, trying to forget about themselves. I worry along with them – my mother must be scared to death. We open the bag and find some bread and a bottle of water inside and eat listlessly, thinking the same damned thoughts that kept us awake last night - will this be our last meal? is this our last evening? will we wake up tomorrow?
Soon, the night comes again, and we try to make ourselves comfortable. It is cold in the room, and so we lie down in the corner opposite from the window and try to sleep, but none of us can, so we just lie there, staring at the ceiling and wondering what will happen to us. Marko is crying, trying to stifle his sobs and failing, and I begin to cry too, because I cannot understand why this is happening or what I am being punished for. What have I done to deserve this? I cover my face with my hands and continue to cry silently, wondering if I am ever going to run out of tears. I think I have cried more in the last two weeks than I did in my entire life before that. I try to think of good things to stop the tears, and think of Goga, Stipe, me, and Tomo on a road trip, but this memory just makes me realize that another road trip like that will perhaps never be possible again...