A Cold White Fear (16 page)

I
hadn't exactly conversed with the man since he'd forced his way into my life, nor had I wanted to. But unable to move from the chair, talking was about the only thing I could think of to take his attention away from the boy. However, coming up with a topic that wouldn't hit one of his hot buttons was a challenge. He beat me to it.

He walked over to boxes of ornaments and pulled out a silver and purple glass ball. He returned to the sofa, where he watched it shimmer in the light from the oil lamp. “Pretty, like fancy woman.”

“Do you have decorations like that in Serbia?” I asked.

“Not my house, but others, yes. In Serbia, Christmas come in January, not December like in Canada. We are Orthodox Church.”

“Like the Russians.”

“
Da.
We call Christmas Bozic. In good days was very special time for my family.” His voice had a wistful undercurrent. “My mother very religious. She make big deal, make us follow Serbian traditions.”

“We have many traditions too. They help make it a special time of year.”

“You have Christmas tree. We have
badnjak
. Day before Bozic my father go very early in morning to forest to cut oak tree to make
badnjak.
Is very big log. Not small like those.” He pointed to the remaining logs in the rack. “All night we watch
badnjak
burn and drink much wine. Mama say it bring good harvest and healthy children.”

He smiled, the first genuine smile I'd seen spread across his face. Even his eyes were smiling. It almost made him seem like a normal human being.

“Your Christmas too short. We celebrate Bozic three days. Much visiting, much eating, much drinking. Mama spend many days cooking traditional food. My grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, they come. We eat
pecinica
, roast pig, not stupid bird. We pass
cesnica,
special bread, around table. Everyone get piece of
cesnica
. My sister and brother try to get piece with special coin. It bring luck for rest of year. Much laughing …” His voice drifted off into a whisper as the memories returned.

I left him to his reverie until I heard a bang coming from the kitchen. It sounded as if Jid had dropped something. Worried Slobodan would notice, I said loudly, “I have many fond memories of my own childhood Christmases. When was the last time you celebrated such a big family Bozic, as you call it?”

“Long, long time. Not since a boy.”

“Is that when you came to Canada?”

“No. I come later, when eighteen.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Seventeen years.”

“You were quite young. Did you come with your family?”

“
Ne
, I come alone.”

“So why did you leave Serbia?”

“
Hrvati
,” he spat out and slammed his hand, still holding the ornament onto the coffee table. The pieces ground into the wood and into his hand. He didn't seem to notice.

Though I had no idea what Hrvati meant, I decided it would be best to change to a more benign topic.

But before I had a chance, he continued, “I from Benkovac. After war, motherfucker Hrvati move in. No more Serbs live in Benkovac.”

“Who are the Hrvati?”

“You English say Croats.” He spat this out with even more venom. “My family live on farm many hundred years near Benkovac village. My grandfather, grandfather of my grandfather, way back many years. They grow grapes for the Veliki Vezir, the Sultan, you say in English. They make wine for the Hapsburg kings. It was beautiful. No more. War destroy farm, my family. No more Bozic.”

“You must be talking about the Bosnian war.”

“
Da.
War with Hrvati.” He pushed up his sleeve and stabbed the tiger tattoo snarling on his bicep. “I am Arkan Tiger. I fight for mighty General Arkan. We kill many Hrvati.”

“I think it took place in the early 1990s. You must've been very young to be fighting.”

“Fifteen. My brother and me go to Arkan after mother­fucker Hrvati kill my mother, rape my sister.”

“I'm so sorry. That must've been very difficult for you.” Hoping to turn his attention away from the dreadful memories and onto something that might reduce the tension in the room, I asked, “Did your brother come to Canada with you?”

“He dead too. Hrvati kill my father in massacre. Only my sister live. My baby brother die before the bad times.”

“Does your sister still live in Serbia?”

“Adrijana go to New York City. She have son, husband, good life.”

“How fortunate for you that she isn't far away. Do you get a chance to see her much?” The question was no sooner asked than I realized my mistake.

He chuckled. “In jail?”

“Sorry, I forgot. But why not? Prisoners are allowed visitors.”

“I no tell her. I tell her I salesman. I travel much. No time to go to New York.”

“She must mean a lot to you. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Three, four year. Before I go to jail.”

“I imagine you haven't told her you're a member of the Black Devils either.”

If the man could possibly look sheepish, he did. “In Canada she tell me forget bad time. She tell me do good. When I come to this big country, I try. In war I no can go to school. My uncle send me to a good school with priests.”

“Did your uncle come at the same time as you to Canada?”

“No, he come before the war. He live many years in this country. He my sponsor. I live with him in Toronto.”

“So what happened? Did you graduate?” I kept my ears peeled for the soft patter of Jid's approach.

“I try. But is very boring.” He shrugged. “Maybe I too old. I like fighting. I am best Arkan Tiger.” He waved his hand back and forth as if firing a machine gun. “Rat, tat, tat … tat.”

Though most of the flakes of broken ornament had fallen from his hand, I could see pinpricks of blood where a couple had become embedded in his palm. He ignored them.

“So what happened?”

“A motherfucker Hrvat. I see him in grocery store. He pretend he don't know me. But I know him. He rape my sister and kill my mother.”

“So what did you do?”

“He have wife. I rape her. He have baby. I take baby and give to Serbian woman who can no have children because Hrvati rape her many times.”

“But the child and the mother had nothing to do with the father's crimes.”

“Baby born Hrvat. Now will be Serb.”

“And the father, what did you do to him?”

“He no more.” He cracked a knuckle.

“Is this why you were sent to prison?”

“Hah, for what? No one find body.”

“But if the man killed your mother, why didn't you go to the police?”

“I do it Serbian way. Police do nothing. Is another country. They don't care.”

“But it could be considered a war crime, and Canadian officials have arrested people for war crimes and sent them back to be tried in the country where the crimes were committed.”

“Pffft. Take too long. Not always work. Serbian way more better.”

Finally, I heard the quiet padding of Jid's moccasins coming from the kitchen. Unfortunately, the man heard them too. To distract him, I started rocking the chair from side to side and ended up knocking it over onto the floor. Lying on my side with the chair still attached, I felt as helpless as a beached whale. At least I'd had the wherewithal to keep my hands in the noose. Well, almost. When the chair was starting to keel over, my hand slid out to cushion my fall. With great reluctance, I forced it back into the ropes.

My ruse worked. I watched Jid slip past unnoticed while the biker hooted and slapped his thighs.

When he finally caught his breath, he said, “You stupid woman. I leave you so.”

This suited me very nicely. I'd been dreading the feel of his hands as he hefted me upright. Knowing him, he would place them in the most intimate areas. But once Jid placed the sign in the window, he'd be returning, so I needed to distract Slobo again. I didn't want him discovering that the boy had been in the front of the house, otherwise he might be curious enough to investigate.

“Ouch!” I cried out. “I've hurt my arm. Please put the chair upright. I can't do it myself.”

“You want my help?” He crossed his arms over his chest in a show of defiance.

“Please.” I listened for Jid's approach and heard instead another sound, the slow lumbering of Larry and Professor coming down the stairs.

They were going to see the boy. I had to do something.

“Ouch!” I yelled loud enough for the other two men to hear. “My arm really hurts. I think I've broken it.”

The Serb merely broadened his smirk and kept his arms fixed across his chest. “What you give me?”

Not again.

“Professor, you there? I need help getting up. I've fallen and hurt my arm.”

I waited for sound of their quickening pace.

Instead I heard the boy running.

I should've known he'd come to my rescue.

“Hey kid, what are you doing?” Professor called out.

I was about to shout out an answer, when Jid replied, “Just putting more wood on the fireplace in the front room.”

What a kid. Of course he'd come up with a plausible excuse.

B
efore
I had a chance to respond, I was upright, sitting

squarely in the seat of the chair with its legs once again firmly planted on the carpet.

“The ropes must've come loose in your fall,” Professor said, untying my hands. He eyed me suspiciously from under his brow of snake heads.

I didn't bother to correct or confirm as I felt the rush of feeling flow back into my hands. My arms dropped to my sides with their sudden freedom. For a moment they hung uselessly like lead, and then the pain started. I breathed in deeply, hoping there was no lasting damage to my shoulders. As the ache slowly ebbed another took over, a sharp, throbbing twinge in the arm I'd landed on. Maybe I hadn't lied.

I gingerly touched my upper arm where the pain was most intense. I winced. That was all I needed. “Seriously, I think I might have broken my arm.”

Jid's brow creased with worry. “You going to be okay, Auntie?”

Slobodan continued to sit with arms and legs splayed out on the sofa. His smirk grew more triumphant. “You get what deserve, bitch.”

I steeled myself to move my arm.
Ouch
, but it moved. I flexed my fingers and carefully bent the arm a couple of times. No searing stabs of pain. “I think I'll be fine.” I gently massaged where the throbbing felt the worst. “I don't think I've broken it, but I imagine I'm going to have a very big bruise.” Another one to add to the one on my face. “Can you undo the ropes around my feet? I want to sit in something more comfortable.”

I waited for Professor to stop the boy. Instead he stepped toward the Serbian and kicked the man's feet out from under him. “Get off the couch. Now!”

The Serbian howled, I wasn't sure whether from pain or from anger. Rubbing his sore foot, he planted his feet back on the floor and then crossed his arms in challenge.

I'd been too busy trying to save myself to notice Larry. I turned at the sound of a hoarse cough behind me to see him slumped into a leather chair, clutching his stomach. Drops of sweat beaded his forehead while his body shook uncontrollably.

“What's wrong, Larry?” I kicked off the loosened ropes and stood up before I realized my legs needed time to adjust to their newfound freedom. I only kept myself from falling by clinging to the back of the chair. When I had enough stability, I stumbled over to Larry while the professor and the biker continued glaring at each other.

“Let me look at your dressing to make sure it's okay.”

“Nah, it's fine.” He brushed my hand away. His teeth chattered. “Just need a hit, eh? Then I'll be okay.”

“I still think I should look at it. You may have damaged something walking up and down those stairs.”

“She's right, P'tit Chief,” Professor interjected. “Lie down on the chesterfield and let her check you over.”

He turned his attention back to the Serb. “Get your fat ass off that sofa.”

Once again they were in a dangerous standoff, like a couple of dogs, one a Rottweiler, the other a Doberman, fighting over who was top dog. Would the biker toe the line again or would he finally retaliate?

As a precaution, I pulled Jid away from where he waited for the action to begin and shoved him behind Larry's chair. “Stay there, okay?”

The same glint of resistance flashed into his eyes that I saw lighting up Slobo's. “Look, Jid, I don't want you to get hurt, okay? One of us needs to come out of this alive. And it's more likely you than me.”

Larry added in a muted voice, “Ya gotta stay outta sight, Jid. Hide out in another room. They'll forget about you soon enough.”

“Good. Hide in Eric's office. They won't think to look there,” I whispered.

“I'm not going to leave you, Auntie.”

“You have to. If they forget about you, you'll be able to leave and go for help. Wait until they're quiet and go.”

I didn't dare look at Larry's reaction, but for some reason I felt this would be fine with him. Maybe it was because Jid was just a boy with many years ahead of him, or perhaps it was because he came from the same community. Regardless, I felt confident that Larry wouldn't mention this to his lover.

However, before Jid could sneak away, the biker abruptly rose from the couch, and cursing in Serbian, placed his hands on the tattooed man's chest and shoved hard. But Professor was like granite and remained firmly fixed. I waited for the viper to strike. So did Slobodan. When nothing happened, the biker gave Professor another shove before heading out of the room, flinging more Serbian curses after him. His uneven footsteps echoed down the hall toward the living room. Only then did I notice the glint of a steel blade extending from Professor's hand. It wasn't Eric's hunting knife but the thin sharp boning knife he used to fillet fish. Professor was adding to his arsenal.

As quickly as the blade appeared, it disappeared.

“Kid, help me get Larry on the couch.”

Slumped between the two of them, Larry put only nominal effort into walking and collapsed with several painful groans onto the sofa. Professor helped him stretch out his legs before saying, “I'll check your dressings before you get settled in.”

When he was finished, he said, “Nothing to worry about. You're going to be like new in a couple of days.” He kissed his friend on the forehead and smoothed the dishevelled hair before resuming his seat at the end of the sofa. So much for Jid disappearing into Eric's office.

Jid picked up Larry's blanket from the floor and draped it over his thin body.

Smiling weakly, Larry raised a trembling hand and ruffled the boy's hair. “Thanks, kid.
Kije-manido
is looking out for you. You're gonna be okay.”

“Yeah, but are you gonna be okay?” Jid replied. “You don't look too hot.”

“It's the horse, kid. It keeps calling. It ain't gonna let me go.”

“You mean the drugs you take, the heroin?”

“Yah. I guess you kids know everything, even if you live in the bush. Don't you start down this road, kid, you hear?
Kije-manido
get mad.”

“So why do you do drugs? Did
Kije-manido
get mad at you?”

“I guess the Creator gave up on me. I'm weak, kid. Can't say no. But I can see you're strong, got backbone. Don't let it get a hold of you.” He stuck his hand into the neck of his T-shirt and pulled out the tiny leather pouch I'd seen earlier. “Here, take this.” He lifted it from around his neck and held it out in the palm of his trembling hand. “My grandmother gave it to me to keep the spirits happy. But it ain't done me much good. I have a feelin' its medicine will work for you.”

“No.” Jid backed away. “It's yours. You need it for protection.”

“Didn't give me much protection with this gunshot, eh? Take it. I want you to have it.”

“You coulda got killed.”

Larry chuckled. “Yah, I suppose there's that. Well, if you won't take it, I'll give you something from it.”

“But you're not supposed to open it. It'll make the spirits mad.”

“Won't make much difference. The spirits have been mad at me for a long time.” Larry struggled to open it up, but his shaking made it almost impossible to release the thin leather drawstring.

“Let me help you,” I said, picking up the delicate pouch.

“Should be a tiny blue stone with red lines through it. The girlfriend said it was an agate from the rez.”

“But you can't take it out,” Jid insisted. His face mirrored his distress.

“I suppose some elder drilled that crap into you, eh?”

“Kòkomis. But it's not crap.”

“I'm sure your grandmother's a respected elder, but elders don't always get it right. She probably stayed put most of her life, so things didn't change much for her. But a man like me who's lived in many places picks up things as he goes along and gets rid of them too. My medicine shows this. I suppose you could call it a story of my life.”

I thought of the disparate items Eric's amulet contained and realized they did tell the story of his life. The minuscule wood carving of an
odjik,
or fisher, his grandfather had made especially for him, which saved his life when I'd lost all hope of finding him alive. A sliver from the hockey stick that had scored his winning Stanley Cup goal. Or the fragile petals of the dried cardinal flower I'd laughingly placed in his hair what seemed a lifetime ago when we made love on a carpet of moss. I could still hear him whispering
Miskowàbigonens
into my ear, little red flower, his spirit name for me. Would I hear it again?

“Jid would be honoured to accept it.” I removed the highly polished stone from the shaking hand and passed it to the boy.

Jid pulled his own amulet out through the loose neck of his T-shirt and slipped it over his head. His great-grandmother had made it. It was her way of keeping her much-loved only great-grandson safe. Though I'd seen her sew beads countless times on moccasins, I was amazed at her ability to create such intricate designs without the use of sight. Blinded by cataracts, which she refused to have removed, she'd managed to bring up the orphaned boy without any help. What a magnificent job she'd done.

He gently pried open the delicate deerskin pouch but hesitated as if not sure he should put the stone inside.

Larry held his breath as he waited to see what the boy would do.

Jid turned the agate over in his hand. “It's pretty. Looks like one I've got. Now I'll have two.”

He continued to study it for a few more seconds before slipping it inside the amulet. At the same time he removed an item. He held it tightly in his fist. Smiling, he stretched his arm out toward the sick man. “This is for you.” He opened his palm to reveal a fringe of dark brown fur. “It's from the moose I killed.”

“Moose, eh? First kill?”

Jid beamed.

“Yeah, I remember my first moose too. I'll keep it safe.” Larry struggled to place it inside his pouch but couldn't. So the boy did it for him and then slipped it back over the man's head.

“Nice amulet you got there,” Larry said. “Your
kòkomis
give it to you?”

“Yeah, when I was little.”

“Mine too.” Larry ran his fingers over the intricate beading. While a number of beads had disappeared over the years, the design of a beaver was still recognizable. It appeared very similar to the one on Jid's pouch.

The two of them continued to stare at each other as if sharing a secret moment. Then, Jid, as if embarrassed, walked away and sat down, but not where he'd sat before, in the armchair the farthest away, but in the one closest to the sofa.

Professor, who'd been silently watching the exchange, stood up. “I'm going to boil some water. I think a hot toddy will help with the pain, P'tit Chief.”

The three of us said nothing as we listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall. The second they faded into the kitchen, Larry turned to Jid. “Quick, go, before he comes back.”

The boy glanced at me as if seeking permission.

“Yes, go. Hide where I told you to, but be extra careful when you pass the living room. I think that's where Slobodan went. Wait until everyone is sound asleep. When you leave, take Shoni.”

He started to protest.

“You have to. It's the only way to save all of us.”

He wavered for another second before giving me a tight hug. He ran out of the room to Eric's office.

I walked over to the chair farthest away and angled it such that when Professor returned he would only see the back of my head. I snuggled deep down into it, covered myself completely with the blanket, and pretended that the boy was sound asleep beside me.