later, a truck with Serbian plates parked outside one of the deserted homes, and several Lions moved everything saleable from the house into the truck. The same thing happened with the other two homes. Four more unmarked trucks were parked just outside the village, and the Lions stood guard over them—perhaps they were already full of loot and waiting to form a convoy to Serbia.
Once a day, sometimes twice, the level of alert was raised because of suspicious activities on the Croatian side, but nothing ever happened. Johnny assumed that this was the way to keep fighters less drunk. But the frequent alerts took a toll: arguments broke out between soldiers and Lions and, two days earlier, some drunken conscripts had got into afight with a couple of villagers. As a result, Pap decided to form a unit of military police. Johnny’s name was on the list with several others. They were supposed to patrol regularly and were entitled to make arrests on the spot.
The night he became an MP, Johnny dined at Mira’s house. Her mother had chased everyone out of the kitchen so she could have it to herself, so Mira invited Johnny to her room on the upper floor. A TV stood on a glass shelf in the corner, and below it a row of videotapes. A small wardrobe was behind the door, and next to it a makeup stand with a large mirror. Mira left the door open and they sat on the bed by the window.
Mira’s father was a stocky man in his fifties, his face full of lines. When he had met Johnny for the first time a half-hour earlier, he had not introduced himself—this was his house.
“What do your parents do?” Johnny said.
“They both worked in Germany for twenty-two years,” Mira said. “Dad started building this house five years ago, so they could come back after retiring and be somebodies. Then they decided to return while they were still strong, to start a pig farm. They both came just two months before the first gun was fired. Great timing, huh?”
“You stayed in Germany?”
“I have a boyfriend in Munich, and they did not want to jeopardize my future with him.”
“Are you getting married?”
She shrugged. “We have a long way to go before we’ve earned enough to start a life on our own.”
“What do you do there?”
“I work in an electronics store.”
“Why did you come back?”
“I wanted to persuade them to come back to Germany with me. My father got me a gun instead. They have an arsenal in the basement. Let me show you.”
He followed her downstairs.
“So you’re a policeman now, huh? That’s a shitty job, right?”
“Why?”
“Well, who will you dare to arrest, really, when everyone is armed? I think it’s throwing sand in our eyes.”
She unlocked the heavy door and switched on the lights. The basement was built like a bunker with concrete walls and narrow windows. It had a bathroom in one corner and three chest freezers along a wall. A heavy walnut cabinet stood on the opposite wall. She opened it. Inside, there was a brand-new Kalashnikov, two rifles, several hand grenades, and five or six pistols, some of them large.
“Some pig farm,” Mira said. “But, you know what they say—‘Protect yourself and God will protect you.’” She chuckled. “What about your parents?”
“They died in a train crash.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Where did you live afterwards?”
“Don’t be offended, but why does it matter?”
Mira nodded. “You’ve turned out well, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“I have a friend with a similar story. He is very soft, insecure. It spoiled him, I guess.”
“Could be. I meant to ask you something. I tried calling Belgrade, but I can’t get through. Is it only this village?”
“No. The lines are cut between Croatia and Serbia. Why? You want to call your girlfriend?”
Mira’s mother called down the stairs to tell them dinner was ready.
The snow started drifting down around ten the next morning. The size of the flakes kept increasing,
Once a day, sometimes twice, the level of alert was raised because of suspicious activities on the Croatian side, but nothing ever happened. Johnny assumed that this was the way to keep fighters less drunk. But the frequent alerts took a toll: arguments broke out between soldiers and Lions and, two days earlier, some drunken conscripts had got into afight with a couple of villagers. As a result, Pap decided to form a unit of military police. Johnny’s name was on the list with several others. They were supposed to patrol regularly and were entitled to make arrests on the spot.
The night he became an MP, Johnny dined at Mira’s house. Her mother had chased everyone out of the kitchen so she could have it to herself, so Mira invited Johnny to her room on the upper floor. A TV stood on a glass shelf in the corner, and below it a row of videotapes. A small wardrobe was behind the door, and next to it a makeup stand with a large mirror. Mira left the door open and they sat on the bed by the window.
Mira’s father was a stocky man in his fifties, his face full of lines. When he had met Johnny for the first time a half-hour earlier, he had not introduced himself—this was his house.
“What do your parents do?” Johnny said.
“They both worked in Germany for twenty-two years,” Mira said. “Dad started building this house five years ago, so they could come back after retiring and be somebodies. Then they decided to return while they were still strong, to start a pig farm. They both came just two months before the first gun was fired. Great timing, huh?”
“You stayed in Germany?”
“I have a boyfriend in Munich, and they did not want to jeopardize my future with him.”
“Are you getting married?”
She shrugged. “We have a long way to go before we’ve earned enough to start a life on our own.”
“What do you do there?”
“I work in an electronics store.”
“Why did you come back?”
“I wanted to persuade them to come back to Germany with me. My father got me a gun instead. They have an arsenal in the basement. Let me show you.”
He followed her downstairs.
“So you’re a policeman now, huh? That’s a shitty job, right?”
“Why?”
“Well, who will you dare to arrest, really, when everyone is armed? I think it’s throwing sand in our eyes.”
She unlocked the heavy door and switched on the lights. The basement was built like a bunker with concrete walls and narrow windows. It had a bathroom in one corner and three chest freezers along a wall. A heavy walnut cabinet stood on the opposite wall. She opened it. Inside, there was a brand-new Kalashnikov, two rifles, several hand grenades, and five or six pistols, some of them large.
“Some pig farm,” Mira said. “But, you know what they say—‘Protect yourself and God will protect you.’” She chuckled. “What about your parents?”
“They died in a train crash.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Where did you live afterwards?”
“Don’t be offended, but why does it matter?”
Mira nodded. “You’ve turned out well, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“I have a friend with a similar story. He is very soft, insecure. It spoiled him, I guess.”
“Could be. I meant to ask you something. I tried calling Belgrade, but I can’t get through. Is it only this village?”
“No. The lines are cut between Croatia and Serbia. Why? You want to call your girlfriend?”
Mira’s mother called down the stairs to tell them dinner was ready.
The snow started drifting down around ten the next morning. The size of the flakes kept increasing,
Similar Books
