A Morning Too Quiet
The red car came flying towards the sidewalk, bounced off it and flipped several times, coming to halt on its wheels. A boy, kneeling in dust on the street, watched in amazement. He nodded approvingly, picked another, blue car and set it on the same crashing course. Samir leaned against the chipped wall of a windowless apartment building and pulled a homemade cigarette from his shirt pocket. Squinting through the smoke at the deserted neighborhood, he tried to shake off the tension. The morning was so unnaturally quiet, it made his stomach knot. For the past twelve months they were waking to explosions, and now Samir was so suspicious of the silence, he could barely take it. Was it only a year? It seemed like a lifetime.
A gaunt, grey haired man walked from the building and leaned against the wall next to Samir. A white t-shirt hung loose on the man’s bony frame. His lifeless eyes set on the boy. Samir offered his cigarette to the man, glancing at his face. Once, that face had been round and smiling, that hair dark brown, those eyes full of life. That was a lifetime ago. Here, Samir thought, lifetimes are measured in days.
"There are rumors about a convoy coming." The old man’s voice was hushed, like he too was afraid to break the silence. Samir nodded. There had been rumors about a convoy coming since the siege started. He wasn't sure anymore whether this was a rumor, or a desperate wish. The only thing on everybody's mind for the last few months was food.
"It must be close, the convoy. That's why it's so quiet." Man's face turned towards Samir. His eyes came alive with a spark of hope. He returned the cigarette. "How can you smoke this? It'll kill you faster than a sniper."
Samir looked at the rolled cigarette between his fingers. "I wish", he whispered. The old man gave him a long look.
"You have to think of him," he nodded towards the boy. "Who will take care of him if you're gone?"
The boy was sitting in a big, flower-like crater on the street. His toy cars were parked in smaller chip-marks which peppered the road, sidewalks and windowless walls of most of the buildings around. It looked like a plague has settled on the town, eating its concrete structure and its inhabitants.
"Why do you let him play in the bomb hole?"
Samir shrugged. "They say it never falls twice at the same spot," he said. "Besides, it’s nice to see how kids can make use of the craters." He motioned towards the toy cars which were parked in the hollows left by the shrapnel.
"When was the last time he ate?" The old man looked at the boy.
"He had an apple for breakfast."
"And you?"
Samir shrugged again. "I don't remember. Yesterday. Or the day before."
"Why don't you two come in with me? Marija found some vegetables, good enough for a soup." The old man turned slowly towards the pock-marked entrance to the building.
"Darko, come!" Samir called to the boy. "Uncle Enver and Aunt Marija have invited us for a soup"
The boy picked up his cars without a word and pushed them into pockets of his worn jeans. In a few quick steps he caught up with the men. There were times, Samir thought, when Darko would complain about interrupting his play.
They sat around a small dining table, pressed against the wall opposite to the window. Marija, a diminutive blonde woman with sad blue eyes, poured thin soup with traces of carrot and unidentifiable green vegetable into bowls. The early morning sun was coming through the window with a huge “X” taped across the glass. It cast an eerie shadow across the kitchen floor.
Samir ate slowly, savouring each spoonful of soup. Beside him, Darko was slurping hastily, as if speed could compensate for the days of hunger. His dark brown hair fell over his eyebrows, hiding his face. It was a face too mature for a 5-year-old, a face that rarely smiled. After finishing his soup, he looked up at his father. His gaze was intense, his eyes were eyes of a deer always on a lookout for a hunter. Darko was a skinny boy, always too involved in playing to have time to eat.
"Can I go out?" Darko asked, his legs dangling from the chair.
Samir nodded, then yelled after him when the boy ran from the kitchen "Stay in front of the building where I can see you!"
Marija cleared the dishes from the table.
"Enver, I will need some water for dishes today," she turned to her husband.
"I will bring it," offered Samir. "I have to get some for us, too."
"Only if you're going to the well on the hill. I don't want you to risk anything for water".
"I've got nothing to do, I'll go with you". Enver stood slowly, stretching his long legs.
Outside, Darko was engrossed in the car chase, imitating sounds of engine and screeching brakes.
"We’re going to fetch water for aunt Marija," Samir called to him. The boy nodded without interrupting the car chase. Samir walked to the corner and called to his friend.
"Enver, coming?"
Enver stood on the sidewalk watching Darko, but not seeing him. His sharp facial features slowly softened. His lips, always turned downward in a perpetual painful grimace, curled into a faint smile. What he was seeing, Samir knew, wasn't Darko pushing his toy cars on the street's pavement. In his heart, Enver saw another boy playing the same way. Samir's glance involuntarily wandered across the street where, half a block away, a few dried flowers lay on the sidewalk next to another crater. On that spot, Enver's son's play was stopped forever one evening. It was unnaturally quiet then, just as it was now. Samir shivered.
"Darko," he called. The boy looked up, the toy cars in his hands.
"If shooting starts..."
"...I will run inside. I know!"
Woken from his daydream, Enver started towards Samir, all the sharp edges returning to his face. They climbed the steep, narrow street in silence, then climbed a few flights of stairs winding through narrow gaps between houses to another steep uphill road. Like everywhere, the facades of houses were peppered with shrapnel marks. Most of the window glass was long gone.
"Damn hill, we should have gone down to get water at the riverside" complained Samir, out of breath. Perspiration was glistening on his forehead. Enver stopped to catch his breath before he was able to answer.
"Snipers killed a boy and a woman in the last few days. People are becoming careless."
"Or desperate," Samir added—"We all need to drink."
"Why not getting water from up the hill? It's safer."
"It's also longer. Old people can't climb there every day. Besides, getting water from the riverside pipe gives us the feeling of defying fate." And cheating death, Samir thought to himself. Enver wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve and moved on.
The narrow alley lead into a tunnel, constructed of scrap metal sheets, old car parts, mostly hoods and doors, and reinforced with wooden pillars on the inside. It covered the part of the path which would have been otherwise exposed to the view from the other side of the town. There, across the river, a sniper always waited for unsuspecting water carriers. Houses around the tunnel were damaged to a much greater degree than other buildings, an obvious target for mortar and machine gun fire which blew away parts of the walls. Most houses were burned, leaving only skeletons of walls standing upright and slowly crumbling away under continuous bombardment. Samir and Enver bent into the low tunnel. Even this early, the air inside was hot and smelled of rust and decay. Bright beams of sun pierced through the bullet holes. The tunnel took them to a backyard of a house which had a well fitted with a water pump. Safe behind the house, Samir and Enver paused to catch their breath and wipe their faces with their shirts. An old, shirtless man was pumping water into few plastic bottles. His sinewy torso was tanned bronze, his face a web of wrinkles. He looked at the newcomers and broke into a toothless smile, adding more wrinkles to his features. "Quiet morning, huh?"
"Too quiet," Samir replied. "I was expecting people lining up for water."
"Ah, they all ran down to meet the convoy," the old man explained, "Haven't you heard it? It passed by here maybe quarter of an hour ago..."
---
Samir's heart skipped a beat as he turned the corner and saw a man crouching in front of Darko, pointing something at the boy. He sighed with relief when he realized the man was holding a camera, not a gun. Man was wearing a khaki vest with multiple pockets loaded with photo gear, notebooks, pens; a reporter. He was dark-haired and tall, probably in his early twenties. When he heard Samir's steps behind, the reporter straightened with a warm smile and offered his hand.
"Good morning, I just arrived with the U.N. convoy. My name is Nikola."
Samir dropped a canister to shake his hand. "Hello. I’m Samir. That’s my boy over there."
"Ah, you are Darko's father? I hope you don't mind me taking pictures of him playing?"
"What are the pictures for?"
"I work for a news agency" explained Nikola turning to look at Darko. "It’s a powerful image to see such a small child playing in the midst of all the destruction—the ruins of buildings, shrapnel marks everywhere."
Samir looked around, seeing his neighborhood the way this stranger saw it; a child playing in the war zone.
"It's a quiet morning," Samir said. "Kids don't get many of these to play outside."
A woman appeared from the building and joined them. She was petite with shoulder-length dark hair framing her oval face. She wore a similar vest to Nikola’s and a small backpack.
"This is Jessica, we work together," Nikola introduced her, "Jess writes, I take pictures."
"I went inside to talk to your wife" Jessica said with heavy accent.
Samir looked at her, confused.
"My wife? Ah, you mean Marija? She is Enver's wife" he waved towards his friend. "My wife died when this madness started."
The journalists looked at each other with unease. Jessica spoke first.
"I’m terribly sorry. I just presumed... The boy sent me to talk to Marija."
"Yes, she’s looking after him when I'm not around. Enver and I went to bring water. There’s no running water in the town."
"Would you mind telling us about your life here?"
They sat on the sidewalk and Samir pulled another cigarette from his pocket. It was a sorry thing, a mix of tea and tobacco, hand-rolled, mashed and deformed. Jessica rummaged through her backpack and retrieved a pack of Marlboro. “Why don’t you have one of mine?” she offered. Samir brought the cigarette under nose, enjoying the smell of real tobacco, then faintly embarrassed put it between lips and turned to Jessica for a light. She pushed the rest of the pack into his hand. “For later” she said with a smile.
For a while they smoked in silence.
“Isn’t it dangerous for a child to play on the street?”
Samir sighed. “We can’t keep the kids indoors all the time. They spend too much time in the basement already. When it’s quiet, I let Darko play outside. I try to keep him close to the building.”
“What if they start bombing?”
Samir gave her a long look. “That is the chance we take every day,” he said. “All I pray for is that the first bomb doesn’t fall right here and that he’ll have enough time to run inside.” Seeing her worried expression, he added: “Don’t worry, now that the U.N. convoy is only a block from here, I don’t think they’ll bomb us.”
“Yeah, but what will happen when the convoy leaves?”
Samir shrugged. After a while, he asked: “Do you want to come in? I’ll show you where we live.”
They climbed the stairs to the top floor. Samir led them into an apartment facing the river. He entered a room with a huge hole blown in its wall where a window used to be. Through it they could see the town spreading down the slope to the river, then rising again up the other bank.
“Magnificent view, huh?” Samir smiled bitterly. “Deadly, too!” He paused for a long moment, looking at the wall. “We all go to the basement when shooting starts. That’s our shelter. The night the bomb hit I carried Darko down, he was asleep. My wife ran in here to take a blanket for him.” Samir’s eyes were moist, looking through the hole into the horror of the past. “There still may be bits of her in this room.”
---
A line of white trucks with a huge black “U.N.” painted on the doors stood on the street in front of a house with a faded U.N. logo on a white board above its entrance. The house was almost untouched by shrapnel, save for a few shallow marks on the front wall. Walls of sandbags were raised all around it. It looked more like a bunker than a humanitarian mission headquarters. Workers pushed two-wheeled carts between the house and the trucks they were unloading. Soldiers with blue berets guarded the perimeter around the trucks from the crowd. At each end of the line of trucks were several armored vehicles topped with heavy machine guns. Children flocked around them. A few lucky boys sat on top of the armored cars where soldiers fed them chocolate and put oversized blue helmets on their heads. Nikola walked around vehicles, his camera capturing the children and soldiers at play. Jessica stood near by, interviewing a group of women. More and more people were gathering in hope that the distribution of flour, rice and other food would start as soon as the trucks were unloaded.
Someone in the crowd pulled Nikola’s vest. He spun around, ready to chase away the kids looking for candies, and came face to face with Samir.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
Samir’s face, normally devoid of any emotion, now had a determined look. He clutched Darko’s hand and moved slowly away from the trucks and the crowd. Nikola followed, glancing over his shoulder toward Jessica. Her eyes found his and she mouthed “I’m coming,” then turned back to finish her conversation with the women. Samir stopped in the narrow passage between two houses. He looked at his toes for a long moment, then took a deep breath and met Nikola’s eyes.
“I must ask you something.” A long pause.
“Go ahead,” Nikola smiled encouragingly. Whatever man had to say wasn’t coming easily. Jessica approached them in quick strides but, before she could speak, Nikola motioned her to wait. She nodded slightly and closed her mouth.
“You see, day after day I worry about Darko,” Samir started, barely audible. He cleared his throat and continued. “Every time he goes out to play, I kiss him goodbye, every time I go to get water, we bid farewell. I lost my wife, I can’t lose my son too. I would not survive if anything happened to him. Can you take him?” Samir’s eyes were feverish. They locked on Nikola’s for long time, then slowly turned to Jessica. Nikola felt his jaw drop, but could not find words to say. By his side, Jessica whispered “Oh, God!”
Samir’s words broke the silence. “I know what I’m asking for is impossible.” The words were racing each other out of his mouth now. “You don’t want to take care of some strange boy. But if you only get him out of town, out of this madness, maybe you can find someone who would take him. Just for a while… until I get out…” His words, barely a whisper now, faded into silence. A single tear escaped the red rim of Samir’s eye and slid down his cheek. Nikola looked at Jessica for help. Her gaze was focused on Samir’s face and tears were rolling down her face.
“I…” Nikola fought for words.
“We’ll do it!” Jessica spoke, choking with tears. “We’ll take care of him until you get out.”
Samir broke into tears, sobbing. He looked as if he would collapse and Nikola reached for him and lowered him slowly. The boy wrapped his small arms around father’s neck. “Don’t, Papa! Don’t send me away!”
A truck horn sounded over the noise of the street. Soldiers were shouting and boarding their vehicles. Nikola and Jessica walked to one of the armored vehicles at the end of the convoy. Samir followed them, carrying Darko in arms. The boy clung tightly to his father. They all stopped at the rear entrance to the vehicle and shook hands, speechless. Jessica jotted her address in her notebook, tore out the page and pushed it into Samir’s hand.
Samir kissed boy’s head and whispered “Listen to aunt Jessica and uncle Nikola. I will come to get you soon”
He peeled the boy away, taking his little arms from around his neck and handed him to Nikola. The boy thrashed, wailing loudly. Nikola held him against his chest, trying to calm him.
“No! No! No! No!” Darko cried as they boarded the vehicle.
“What’s this?” a soldier in the vehicle asked when he saw the child in Nikola’s arms.
“We’re taking the boy with us”, Jessica explained.
“What?” The soldier hesitated for a moment. “That’s impossible! You can’t do that!” His eyes locked with Jessica’s in a silent duel.
“We’ll see! Let me talk to your superior!”
The soldier glared at her, grinding his teeth, then unclipped the radio from his belt and spoke into it in rapid Spanish. Darko quieted in Nikola’s arms, sensing that something serious was happening. An officer appeared at the door.
“This child can’t go” the officer pointed at Darko. He was a short, dark-skinned man with fiery dark eyes shooting under bushy eyebrows. His weathered face betrayed no emotion. His voice, used to barking orders, cut like a blade.
“We’re taking him to safety. If he stays, he’ll die!” Jessica tried to match officer’s firmness.
“He’s survived this long, he’ll live, like everyone else in this town!”
“Or die, like everyone else in town!” Nikola added.
“This is not a rescue convoy - the child stays!” The officer turned to go.
“Wait a minute!” Jessica yelled after him. “This is a U.N. convoy! You are here to help these people. You can start by saving this boy!”
The officer turned back slowly, his back stiffening. “Are you telling me what my mandate is here? We came to bring food and information about the situation. We don’t interfere, and don’t take sides! We are peacekeepers, not peacemakers! This is the army, not a charity! Am I making myself clear?”
“That’s ridiculous!” Jessica lost control. “If you haven’t noticed, there’s no peace to keep here! This town is being bombed daily. People are dying. Do you call that peace?”
The officer’s tanned face paled a few shades. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “Very well! You can stay here with the child. I’ll inform your media outlet that you broke your arrangement with the U.N. and interfered with our mission. Bringing this boy out endangers not only him, but everyone else in this convoy and I will not allow that!” His eyes narrowed. “Please, leave the boy, or leave the vehicle. Now!”
---
The summer heat never seemed to touch the gorge of the river. There was a constant breeze, its hiss through the tree leaves competing with the hum of the water. The emerald green color of the river was in stark contrast with washed-out grey of the stone buildings on the cliffs. Nikola enjoyed a leisurely walk along the bank, enjoyed the birds chirping noisily and small cafes waiting for life to return. Beside him, Jessica sprung around, snapping pictures of the town healing its war wounds. This time, she was the one carrying the camera.
A narrow street rising from the river up the hill was busy with craft stores exhibiting their wares on boxes and on cobbled stones of the street. A few post-war tourists lingered among hand-made copper dishes, plates, cups and vases depicting the town as it was before the war. A white-haired man leaned barefoot in the doorframe of his store, smoking a cigarette. On a tablecloth spread on the ground outside the door offered for sale were wooden plates carved with the bridge which made the town famous, along with paintings and old postcards. Jessica crouched to check the postcards and Nikola joined her. The man stared at them intensely.
“Don’t I know you?” he asked. “Journalists?”
They both looked at him. He seemed vaguely familiar. His face looked younger than his white hair suggested.
“You don’t remember me. I’m Enver, Samir’s friend.”
“Oh, it is really you! Your hair’s changed so much,” Nikola smiled.
“Yes, my hair grew old faster than the rest of me.” Enver smiled back, sadly.
“We looked for you, for Samir and Darko and Marija, but couldn’t find anyone” Jessica stood up. “How is everybody?”
Enver pressed the cigarette against the stone wall, and tossed the butt on the street. He kept his gaze on it.
“You haven’t heard?” He started, straining to get the words out. “The building was hit a few days after the convoy left. I was fetching water when it happened. The first bomb landed right in front of the entrance. That’s where Darko was playing with his cars.” He stopped to swallow. “Samir and Marija were with him, having a smoke. It was a quiet morning, too quiet…”.
May 14, 2006
This story was written for a short story contest. It is a piece of fiction based on the real event. No parts of it can be used in any form without the author’s written approval. ©2006 Zoran Bozicevic
Children from the eastern part of Mostar run to meet a UN convoy, summer 1994. Mostar is a Bosnian town divided by fighting between the Muslims and the Bosnian Croats, people who lived peacefully as neighbors for generations.
Photo by Zoran Bozicevic
