Authors: Varian Krylov
Escape (30 page)
They could still hear the dry scrape of
Ljubo
's boots in the sandy dirt, long after the dark had swallowed up the loping shape of him. Why hadn't they heard him approach? Had he come up to them stealthily on purpose, because he'd heard them talking? Or had they just been too wrapped up in their kisses and caresses to pay attention to the rest of the world? And now what? They were over the border and just a day's ride from Tarina—was everything going to fall apart now? When they were so damned close?
“We have to make a choice, Luka.”
“Trust him? Or take off?”
“Yes.”
“Where are your papers?”
“In my bag, back at camp.”
“You need those.”
“Yes. We need them. But if
Ljubo
said something to the group, if the group decides to... We only need the papers if we're alive and well enough to use them.”
Luka hated that he was suddenly afraid of the nine people they'd spent the last two days and nights with, jostling along in that cramped van with shot shocks, sharing meals and the warmth of the nightly campfire, sharing their fears, bolstering each other with their collective courage. Even if he'd always been a little afraid, at least afraid enough to pretend he was mute so no one would know he was Bokan.
“I could go back on my own. Get our bags. We could find a good spot for you to hide and wait for—”
“No.”
“I'm quick, Luka. I'm quick, and when I have to be, I'm—”
“I've seen how you can be, when you have to, Tarik.” The memory of Begović's wide-yawning throat spilling blood down the couch cushion, of Armin's eviscerated corpse on the floor yielded to an image of seven men, a woman and a toddler sprawled around a dying fire, still and pale, each one framed in a sickening wreath of blood and guts.
Both fell silent at the dry rustle of sand or gravel gusting loose over the terrain, but a flurry of wind seemed to be the culprit.
“If you think we can trust them, I'll go back with you. If you don't, I'll take off with you. But together, Tarik. We stay together. No matter what.”
Tarik peered into the dark, toward camp. In the distance, there was the faint glow of the fire. No sign of movement. No voices. Then Tarik met Luka's eyes again. “What about you? You trust
Ljubo
?”
“Yes.” But then again, except for Begović and Armin, he had the bad habit of trusting everyone, until they'd already proven him wrong.
“I think I do, too. Just... the stakes are so high. If we're wrong...”
“I want to trust him.”
Tarik grinned. Seeing him grinning like that felt like looking at a hole in Tarik's soul. “I want to trust him, too. But wanting to trust people won't keep you safe.”
“Us.”
“What?”
“It won't keep
us
safe.”
Tarik's rotting soul grin morphed into a sweet smile. “You're right. Us.”
“And if we're wrong trusting
Ljubo
, I want to trust the others.”
“Wanting to trust them won't keep us safe, either.”
“I want to be safe. But I don't want to be safe, running away from everyone, everywhere, for the rest of our lives. Always being afraid of people. I'm sick of it, Tarik.”
They went back slowly, creeping silently, listening for suspicious murmurs, watching for any sign the group was readying for a confrontation. When
Ljubo
caught sight of them, he called out, “Feeling better, kid?”
Tarik answered on his behalf. “I think it's out of his system.”
“There's a little bread left, if you think you can keep it down.”
Looking for any sign of betrayal, Luka forced a smile and attempted a polite gesture of refusal, reverting to his pantomime of PTSD muteness.
“It's just nerves. But better to let his gut settle. He can have something in the morning, before we get back on the road.” Tarik stayed glued to Luka's side, vigilant as a sentinel.
Jaga struggled to her feet, little Jovanka dead weight in her arms. She came up to Luka, and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. “Just a case of nerves? You're not actually sick, are you?”
Luka shook his head.
“Would you mind holding her while I go do my business?” Jaga transferred the sleeping bundle into Luka's arms, and scurried off into the dark.
Looking around the group ringing the fire, no one was paying him or Tarik any notice. Luka perched close by the fire, upwind from the smoke so it wouldn't bother Jovanka, dozing in contented oblivion, unaware even that her mama had passed her off to the silent stranger who'd only held and cuddled her a couple times before, for similar purposes. Luka wondered if Jaga always entrusted her baby to him, because to her, he wasn't like the other men. Because he looked younger? More like a big brother or a babysitter than an adult like the others? Or because, like Armin and Begović, she saw something feminine in him? Either way, he figured, she didn't see him as a man. But in her case, his lack, his differentness, his wrongness invited her trust, where it had provoked fear and cruelty in Begović and Armin and the soldiers at the refugee camp.
By the time the sun had risen, the group had eaten breakfast and packed up camp, and were back on the road. Nine hours later, the van dropped off the first three men two kilometers from the Vlorë central train station. Their little band of refugees had agreed ahead of time it was prudent to split up in smaller groups, for fear the spectacle of nine road-weary migrants disembarking en-masse in the station parking lot might draw attention. Tarik and Luka got out next, a few blocks closer to the station. The goodbyes were brief and stoic. Shouldering their packs, they headed in the direction of the station.
After weeks of trekking through open terrain and hiding out in tiny villages, the smooth concrete sidewalks, the screech of brakes, the jostle of passing people was a shock. The sun hadn't set, but the massive buildings covered the streets in shadow; the streetlights were already on, and a warm glow emanated from windows climbing toward the sky in tidy columns.
At the first payphone they saw, they stopped, and Tarik dialed the number written down on a neatly folded square of paper he took from his wallet. He let it ring for over a minute, but there was no answer. An anxious pallor settled over Tarik. Since he'd had no chance to communicate with Senka's family since he'd gone into town while Luka endured the torments of Armin and Begović, all they knew was that he'd be arriving sometime this week, and only if all went well.
“Let's try again when we get to the station.” Tarik faked an easy smile, and they kept walking.
Even more overwhelming than the hectic activity of the city streets, the station was a frantic jostle of people scurrying in a chaos of cross currents, muffled announcements shot from loudspeakers and bouncing incoherently though the vast halls. Checking the board, they saw there were trains leaving for Tarina every ninety minutes. Tarik tried his call again, and again got no answer.
Luka touched Tarik's arm. “It's early. They're probably not back from work, yet.”
“Let's go buy our tickets. The ride must be at least three hours. If we can't reach them before we board, I'll just try them when we get to Tarina.”
Luka couldn't imagine how anxious Tarik must be, after waiting so long and struggling so hard to be able to come for his child. But, except for looking a little pale, he was hiding any worry he might be feeling. They got in line to buy their tickets. It took nearly half an hour to get up to the window, and once they'd bought their tickets, the vendor curtly admonished them to use the new machines lining the main hall to buy their tickets, next time.
Since they still had their share of the few remaining provisions from the van, they decided to save every cent they could. Once they'd refilled their bottles from the tap in the bathroom, Tarik tried the number one last time, without luck, and by then it was time to board.
Their seats were near the center of a car, so close to the seats in front of them, Tarik's knees were pressed up against the plastic back. But it was still more room than they'd had in the van. Luka was disappointed they were making this journey at night; if they'd been traveling by day, they could have seen a little of the Alkbana countryside. As it was, once they'd passed through the neon glare of the city, it felt like they were zooming through an endless dark tunnel, a hundred human captives in a fluorescent capsule.
When Tarik pulled his pack down from the overhead rack, Luka figured he was hungry. Again. It amused and amazed him how much Tarik could pack away in that flat belly of his, whenever there was more than meager rations available. But instead of the little bundle of provisions, Tarik carefully extracted a child's book, the oversized dimensions of the cover contrasting with the narrowest of spines.
“Are you going to read me a bedtime story?” Luka teased.
“No. You're going to tell me one.” Tarik grinned and Luka's chest flooded with warmth. Gingerly, almost reverently, Tarik lifted back the stiff cardboard cover with the frisky puppy and mischievous kitty, revealing a square of paper neatly folded in four. Tarik unfolded it carefully.
“Tell me your story, Luka. Your Trasmundo. Where you come from. Where we're going.”
Familiar tightness in his throat, heat in his cheeks. Sure he was blushing, afraid he was going to cry, Luka sighed, “You kept it?”
Even before Tarik gave him that first comforting caress in their zipped-together sleeping bags, before Luka realized Tarik wasn't his enemy, Tarik had saved and guarded his hurried drawing like a treasure. In their desperate rush to flee before they were caught and punished as Armin's and Begović's murderers, for some reason, that piece of paper had meant something to Tarik.
“Of course, I kept it. It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen since I was forced to leave the university and imprison myself in that uniform.” Tarik leaned in close and repeated in a whisper, “The most beautiful thing. Except for you.” He laughed. “Especially when you blush like that.” His flirtatious whisper deepened, weightened. “And I was too curious to leave it behind.”
“Curious?”
“Well, it's not just a pretty picture, is it? There's more, hidden in there with all that fanciful wonder. It's a layered tale of a perilous journey. I want to hear it. Not now, all at once. We have time. Just promise you'll tell me all of it, little by little, the more you know me. The more you trust me.”
As reverently as he'd put the drawing on display, Tarik carefully folded it again, and put it back between the protective covers of the book. Then he took off his coat and spread it over his lap, and nudged Luka to do the same. Under their coats, Tarik sought Luka's hand with his, brushed his touch over Luka's palm, and wove their fingers together. When Luka looked over, Tarik was gazing down at him with a tender, if melancholy smile.
God, Luka loved him. His whole body was full and warm and heavy with love. He'd known it for days, almost since the first sweet, soft kiss. But starting in that moment, fingers woven together with Tarik's, their closeness hidden under their coats during the three and a quarter hours train ride to Tarina, for the first time, another strange, beautiful certainty took root in Luka.
He was loved.
THE END
... FOR NOW
coming soon:
TRASMUNDO BOOK TWO:
EXILE
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Trasmundo: Escape
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Varian Krylov
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