Melange Magazine

Fiction

Photograph provided by John Ling

“Hold a true friend with both hands.”
- Nigerian Proverb

The warmness of the spring of 1994 arrived without much notice in Sarajevo, the capital city of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina, where the stricken people were enduring the mind-numbing horror of an unending siege.

Sarajevo was being smashed into rubble by the merciless shelling from powerful artillery positioned on the hills around the city. The Yugoslav military had tanks and armored vehicles entrenched on every road, making escape all but impossible. Within the city itself, Serbian guerilla units were prowling the streets, coldly eliminating men, women and children indiscriminately.

Five hundred thousand people were trapped in a bleak nightmare. Food supplies were dwindling. Water was contaminated. Medical care was non-existent.

The depressed citizens of Sarajevo took refuge in story-telling. To lift the spirits of their families and friends, they shared tales of courage, chivalry and love.

One real-life story captured their hearts the most. It concerned a young man called Bosko Brkic and a young woman called Admira Ismic. Both were 25-years-old and deeply in love. She was Muslim while he was Serbian. At the height of the siege the previous May, the couple made the fateful decision to flee Sarajevo to seek safety elsewhere. Their escape across the city’s Vrbanja bridge was doomed to failure: they were cut down by sniper fire and Bosko was killed instantly. Admira wounded but still alive crawled back to her childhood sweetheart, putting an arm around him and dying by his side. Admirers called them the ‘Romeo and Juliet of Sarajevo’.

Their deaths played out like a media circus on television sets around the world as Serbs and Muslims blamed each other for the shooting, even as the bodies of the slain lovers laid unclaimed on the bridge for a week, frozen in a last tender embrace.

A single tragedy amidst an ever growing mountain of tragedies.

The epic Siege Of Sarajevo was entering its second year. It was only part of a larger conflict that was engulfing Bosnia in a genocidal orgy of murder, rape and cruelty.

The Serbian military juggernaut was rolling across the landscape, seizing Muslim ancestral lands with violent abandon. Death squads were wiping out whole village communities off the map. The United Nations peacekeepers merely stood by and watched.

The Bosnian Muslims a traditionally rugged people quickly organized a ragtag resistance to fight back.

For centuries, the Serbs and Muslims had lived side by side. Now they were willing to kill each other for a share of the nation both called home. The stage was set for the Bosnian rural countryside to taste the flames of war.

Thirty kilometers south of Sarajevo was the vast marshy badlands known as Erewhon.

The mere sight of it was enough to give anyone an unsettled feeling. Stretching out for as far as the eyes could see, it was a swampy forest submerged in many places by oily water, the rotting vegetation habitually spewing gases that shrouded the area in a strange fog. The absence of wildlife gave the forest an odd silence punctuated only by the eerie rustling of the trees. Erewhon appeared to be drained of all color, serving no purpose other than to perpetuate a gloomy grayness.

By day, it could be enigmatic. By night, it was terrifying.

The simple-minded farmers living close to Erewhon were a superstitious lot. They warned their children of ghosts, demons and other supernatural horrors dwelling within its forbidden depths. To be lost within Erewhon at nightfall was a fate worse than death, for the place was crawling with bloodthirsty evil. The significance of these sinister tales was lost on the Serbian soldiers venturing into the depths of Erewhon today. Almost a thousand strong, they cut a swathe through the fog with amphibious hovercraft, their guns at the ready and their nerves raw as hell. With the evening sun sinking down behind the treetops, the Serbs pushed on, their powerful spotlights leading the way into the heart of the swamp.

Deeper and deeper they went.

Soon, it became clear that they had reached a point where the thick foliage made it impossible for their vehicles to proceed further. The soldiers disembarked on a muddy embankment and quickly arranged themselves into units of twenty.

They fanned out, boots sloshing on the moist earth and assault rifles sweeping from side to side. Their flashlights pierced the darkness and they advanced, on the hunt. Somewhere ahead in the swirling mists was a Muslim resistance enclave.

The soldiers on this search-and-destroy mission were mostly young men filled with enthusiasm rather than experience. Among them was a young private named János Apró. János had last worked close to the Croatian border, where he had chased down and shot Muslim civilians trying to flee across. Unfortunately, such adventures were rare and patrol duty was mostly a tedious job filled with long hours and endless boredom. He had been aching for months to experience some real danger and tonight would be his chance.

Following his comrades through the darkness, the 22-year-old from Belgrade could barely contain his excitement at the possibility of facing the enemy in combat. His lieutenant had entrusted to him the job of guarding the flank of the unit as they moved through the forest. His pride ballooned at being given such an important task, his mind spinning with fantasies of heroic deeds and wartime bravado.

Totally oblivious to his surroundings, János failed to see the log on the ground in front of him until it was too late. He tripped over it, gasping as he did.

János fell clumsily, the weight of his backpack pulling him over the edge of a cliff. With arms flailing wildly, he plummeted fast, splashing down hard into a murky lagoon.

Panic overcame him as his backpack dragged him down. He thrashed around, grimy water entering his lungs, his shaking hand going for his knife. He drew it and quickly sliced through the straps of his backpack before surfacing for air.

János breathed raggedly and pulled himself out of the water, rolling onto the embankment. “Help!” he shouted.

Nothing but the faint crackling of the trees.

“It’s me! Can anybody hear me?”

Nothing but the quiet lapping of the lagoon’s waters.

János got to his feet, his eyes wild as he searched for some sign of his comrades’ flashlights. He saw nothing but the shadowy outlines of trees and bushes. They had apparently moved on without noticing his disappearance.

He forced himself to remain calm. They couldn’t have gone far and he reasoned to himself that it wouldn’t be too difficult to find them.

János had barely taken five steps when a sharp click filled his ears. His jaw dropped slightly and he froze. Slowly, he looked down. He couldn’t see anything. He reached for the small flashlight on his vest and switched it on. He held his breath and he looked again. Something metallic glowed as it laid half-buried in the soil beneath his right foot. He slowly switched off his flashlight.

János had just stepped on a landmine.

The crescent moon shone down on his solitary figure. A cool breeze blew through the dark forest. The trees swayed from side to side.

A full hour passed.

János was still standing perfectly still: cold, hungry, exhausted and scared.

He was beginning to consider lifting his foot off the mine and getting it over with. Perhaps death would be relatively painless.

Doubt entered his mind. What if the mine wasn’t powerful enough to kill him? What if it just blew off his leg?

Flashes of a slow agonizing death filled his imagination. Warm tears ran down his cheeks and he thought of his loved ones back home.

A bush in front of him suddenly rustled. Something was moving. János blinked away his tears and reached for his pistol.

A dark shape approached.

János pulled his gun from its holster and raised it, just as a man stepped into the moonlight, aiming an AK-47 at him. Both men stared each other down. Curiously, neither one pulled the trigger.

János sighed and lowered his pistol, pausing for a moment, before tossing it away. He hunched his shoulders in defeat.

The Muslim fighter narrowed his eyes. The expression on his camouflage-painted face was one of surprise. He lowered his AK-47.

“I’m standing on a mine,” János said. “I’m a dead man anyway. Just shoot me in the head. Make it quick.”

The Muslim lowered his gaze and stared at János’s right foot.

The silence was suddenly broken by a series of explosions close by. The night sky lit up as mortar shells whistled overhead.

The Muslim shook his head and he spoke for the first time: “You Serbs have made a big mistake by coming here. It will be a slaughter.”

“What?” “We knew you were coming. That’s why we set a trap. First, we are going to bombard you with mortars. Then, we have ambush parties ready to finish you off.”

János grimaced. “I’m just fated to die, aren’t I?”

The Muslim shrugged and slung his AK-47 over his shoulder. He walked up to where János’s pistol lay and picked it up. Much to János’s surprise, the Muslim fighter casually approached him and pressed the gun into his hand.

“These woods are dangerous. You need your gun.”

The Muslim bent down at János’s feet and drew his knife. János watched with growing surprise as the Muslim skillfully defused the mine. After some scraping, it was done. The Muslim stood up and smiled. “It’s safe to step away now.”

János gingerly lifted his foot off the mine. Nothing happened. He was safe. János was ecstatic. He quickly reached for the man’s hand and held it tight.

“Thank you. Thank you for saving my life.”

The Muslim shook his hand warmly. “My name is Renato.”

“My name is János. I must find my unit.”

The man known as Renato laid his hand on János’s shoulder. “No, it’s too dangerous. You should come with me.”

Renato turned and disappeared behind a nearby bush. János followed. To his surprise, there was a tent cleverly hidden behind it. Renato invited his new-found friend inside and offered him a drink.

“You were here the whole time?” János asked incredulously as he took a sip of the whiskey.

“I was watching you the entire time. My job is to act as a lookout and radio in any Serbian troop movements. When you stepped on that mine, I didn’t know what to do. Then, I saw you crying. That’s when I decided to go out and meet you.”

János looked away, mildly embarrassed.

Renato patted his back. “It’s okay. War does that to a man.”

János nodded slowly, finishing up the whiskey in his mug. It made him feel better.

“Why did you save me?”

“You’re a fresh-faced kid. You don’t deserve to get mangled up by a mine. What’s the honor in that?”

“But I’ve shot Muslims before.”

“And I’ve killed my fair share of Serbs. We do it because that’s what war asks of us. Not because we really want to.”

“I guess so. I like the danger. But I don’t like the killing.”

“We’re not so different, then.”

Renato smiled widely and he poured János more whiskey. János returned the smile.

“Where are you from, Renato?”

“From Sarajevo. And you?”

“I’m from Belgrade.”

“Ah… another way we are alike. We are both city boys!”

Both men chuckled softly.

“Do you have relatives in Sarajevo?” asked János.

Renato nodded grimly. “My wife is there, along with her family.”

“I’m so sorry. I hope they are alright.”

“Well, war is hell. We just have to make the best of it. Still, I think they are coping with the siege pretty well. Last I heard, the Red Cross was in the city distributing food and medicine. I’m grateful for small mercies like that.”

“This Siege of Sarajevo, they call it, it’s crazy. You know about the Romeo and Juliet incident?”

“The two lovers shot on the bridge?”

“Yeah, I heard a Serb priest refused to conduct funeral rites for poor Admira Ismic just because she was Muslim. I mean, she’s already dead. She should be given more respect.”

“Yes, it’s so sad. A tragedy for both Serbs and Muslims alike. By the way, you seem quite young. Do you have a girlfriend back home in Belgrade?”

“I do. Her name is Ruzika. She’s 22, the same age as I am.”

János reached for his breast pocket and pulled out a small photograph which he passed to Renato. The older man smiled as he glimpsed a young woman’s face under the dim light of the oil lamp.

“She’s very beautiful. And she looks very bright too.”

“Yes, she is. She’s studying to become a doctor.”

“Wow. A doctor. That’s really something,” Renato said with visible admiration as he gave the photograph back. “It’s a very noble profession. You should be proud to have a girlfriend like her.”

“Yes, I am. I will probably marry her when I get back. And then, I want to continue my studies and become a businessman.”

“You are a very ambitious young man, János. I think you will do very well in life.”

“What about you? What do you do for a living?”

“Ah, I used to run a plumbing business with my wife. Too bad this war came along and spoiled things. I think my shop is probably all smashed up now. But it doesn’t matter. When this war ends, I’ll go home to Sarajevo and rebuild it. Start all over again.”

Both men fell silent as the ground began shaking. They drank their whiskey and looked through the tent’s opening, watching the fiery explosions erupting on the other end of the misty river. Ever so often, tracer gunfire would fly back and forth, like flashing stripes that dotted the air. The forest was pulsating in intense hues of red and orange.

Renato spoke first. “It’s like the whole world is on fire, isn’t it?”

János grunted in regret, getting out a notepad and a pencil. He scribbled down his address and tore off a page, passing it to Renato.

“Someday, maybe, when all of this is over, we can contact each other again.”

Renato smiled, taking the pencil from János and jotting down his address on the notepad in return.

“Yes, we’ll write to each other. And then, who knows, we can see each other again. I can meet your girlfriend and you can meet my wife.”

“Maybe I can come down and help you rebuild your shop. After all, I have never been to Sarajevo before.”

“Thank you for your kind offer. Someday, someday, we will meet again.”

“Renato? Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, my friend. What is it?”

“How come you knew how to disable that mine so quickly? Weren’t you worried it might explode in your face?”

“No, I wasn’t worried in the least.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you see, I made that mine myself. It was me who planted it there.”

János was awakened the next morning by the warmth of sunshine on his face. He opened his eyes. The tent’s canvas opening was flapping from the gentle wind. He gazed at it for a moment, realizing that it was the only sound he could hear. The noises of battle from the previous night had disappeared. He rubbed his eyes, yawning as he crawled out of his sleeping bag.

He got to a sitting position and looked around the tent. Renato was nowhere to be seen. János eyed his friend’s AK-47 in the corner. He took hold of it before exiting the tent.

He found himself standing amidst a fog as he cradled the Russian rifle in his hands. He heard voices. János pursed his lips and he chambered a round. He took a few cautious steps. He passed through the bush. He raised his rifle. The fog parted.

“Private Apró! It’s you!”

János froze.

Right in front of him were five soldiers from his unit. They looked as if they had gone through hell, with their uniforms muddied and crumpled. They stared at him with wearied expressions and it was clear they had passed the night without any sleep.

But János wasn’t paying any attention to them. His eyes were transfixed on the man lying face-down on the ground with his hands behind his head.

It was Renato.

The unit’s lieutenant stepped up to János with a wide smile. He put his arm around János’s shoulder. “So you made it out alive after all?”

János said nothing.

The lieutenant laughed. “We came across this Muslim shit. We were about to shoot him when you came along.”

János’s eyes narrowed.

“I think you should do it. After all, you’ve always said you wanted to kill a Muslim fighter face-to-face. Here’s your chance, boy.”

The lieutenant gave János a pat in the back. János stepped forward, gripping his rifle so tight that his knuckles turned white. His mind was racing.

The other soldiers began cheering and whistling as János leveled his gun in Renato’s face. János began to shake. He could barely keep his aim steady.

“The mine, János. The mine,” Renato whispered as he tilted his head sideways, indicating a certain spot on the ground.

János frowned.

Without warning, Renato rolled to the left. He drew a knife from his sleeve and slammed it down hard into the boot of the soldier closest to him. The man shrieked as the blade impaled his foot.

The other soldiers were quick to aim their weapons at Renato.

János shot a glance at the spot that Renato had showed him. Something was glinting in the sunlight: it was the mine János had stepped on the previous night.

He swung his rifle around.

“Private Apró! What the hell are you doing?”

He opened fire. His bullets swept the forest floor, kicking up dirt, twigs and leaves before striking the mine.

The steel explosive catapulted upwards into the air, flipping over and over, before giving out an ominous click.

The soldiers looked away from Renato and stared open-mouthed at the airborne mine.

Renato gritted his teeth and got to his feet. He threw himself against János. They flew over the edge of the hilltop and the landmine exploded into flying pieces of red-hot shrapnel that shredded the flesh of the screaming soldiers.

János and Renato rolled down fast, bouncing against the side of the hill, throwing up a dirt cloud. They landed at the grassy bottom, breathing hard as they recovered from the fall.

Renato grabbed János and shook him furiously. “Would you really have shot me? Would you?”

János drew his pistol and pressed it against Renato’s forehead.

Renato sneered in disgust: “So, we are enemies after all.”

János’s eyebrows twitched in anger. His grip around the pistol tightened and he jerked his arm to the right. He pulled the trigger, firing twice over Renato’s shoulder.

Renato blinked in surprise. Turning around, he glimpsed a bloodied Serbian trooper clutching his chest, sinking slowly to the ground.

“Apró, you traitor…” the dying soldier mumbled, pulling the pin of a grenade hanging from his vest.

János pushed Renato out of the way.

The blast sent them somersaulting through a shower of leaves, splashing them down on a shallow pond, bruised but alive.

János and Renato rose painfully to their feet. For a moment, both men just stared at each other. Then, their lips began curling in bittersweet smiles and they helped each other out of the pond.

Now on dry ground, János reached out for a handshake. Renato pushed his hand away and engulfed him in a hug. Both men sobbed openly as they held each other.

“If not for this damned war, we would have been friends!” Renato croaked bitterly.

János hugged Renato tighter. “We are friends. Best of friends. We don’t need a war to tell us otherwise.”

János and Renato located the spot where the Serbian hovercrafts had landed the day before. Miraculously, there were several still waiting on the shoreline.

Helping his friend start up the engine of a hovercraft, Renato asked: “What will you do now?”

“I’m going to abandon this war.”

“But that would make you a deserter.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m making my way over to Croatia. I will wait until this conflict ends, and then go back home. I have friends who can fake the paperwork. Come with me, Renato. We have no part to play in this war.”

“I can’t… I just can’t.”

János jumped onto the hovercraft’s deck.

“Listen, can you still kill a Serb in cold blood? After all that’s happened? After having experienced friendship with one?”

“No, I suppose not.”

János offered his hand to Renato.

“I used to think that all the Muslims I shot deserved to die. Now, I believe every Muslim deserves the chance to live.”

Renato looked into his friend’s sincere eyes. He smiled as he replied, “So does every Serb.”

Renato reached for his friend’s hand and János pulled him aboard the hovercraft. The engine was powered up and they disappeared quickly into the mists.

Lightning streaked across the sky and the rain poured down the instant they left behind the swamps of Erewhon. It was the hope of these two friends one Serb and the other Muslim that someday, another kind of rain would come to wash away all the blood and hatred…