Authors: Ayse Kulin
“How are you doing, Nimeta?” he asked in a flat voice.
“Burhan! We’ve looked everywhere for you. You didn’t even tell us you were leaving. The children have been worried sick. Why didn’t you call us?”
“You’ve got every right to be upset with me. I realized I’d made a mistake when I was talking to Fiko. I should have called and let you know where I was.”
“Burhan, I need to talk to you. Can we take a little walk?”
“Nimeta, it’s best that we don’t talk.”
“No, Burhan. There are some things you need to know. I want you to understand.”
Fiko got up and walked over to the soldiers guarding the shelter. Nimeta inwardly thanked him for realizing that she needed to be alone with Burhan.
“Look, we’re alone now. I need you to listen to me.”
“You listen to me first,” Burhan said. He didn’t sound angry or hurt. In fact, he sounded as calm and collected as ever. “Nimeta, my priorities have changed since I arrived here. I’ve come to realize just how unimportant some things are.”
“Let me explain,” Nimeta interrupted.
“You might have the chance to explain one day. If this war ever ends and we’re still alive, we’ll talk things over. But right now the only thing that matters to me is the liberation of Bosnia. I’ve devoted myself completely to the cause, Nimeta. I’m not the man I was. Something’s happened to me up here in this pine forest. The things that used to bring me joy or make me angry just don’t matter anymore. It all seems so trivial. I’m sorry I hit you. I wish I hadn’t. But if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have had a reason to come here, and I would have spent the rest of my life designing buildings. I’d never have known the rage, the hatred, the passion that’s driving me to be a Bosniak and stay a Bosniak at whatever cost.”
“Aren’t you going to come home, Burhan?”
“My home is here, and it will be for a long time to come. They need me here. I’m helping the people who are fighting for us all. I’m helping to build bridges, shelters, and tunnels. When it’s necessary, I’m fighting too, fighting for my country.”
“One day, when this is all over—”
“When that day comes, we’ll talk again.”
“I’ve always loved you and I never dreamed of leaving you—”
“None of that matters now, Nimeta,” Burhan said. “It’s all in the past. You’ve lived on your own before. I never realized how lonely you got when I was out working in the field. But you managed on your own. You’re stronger—stronger than me maybe. You’ve got a career, friends, business trips.” He paused for a moment to stop himself from adding, “You even found yourself a lover,” then said, “You were always a great mother. I know you can get along without me.”
“I want you to come home.”
“If we’re both alive when the war ends, we can talk about it then.”
Nimeta’s tears trickled down around the corners of her mouth, down her throat, and onto her blouse.
“Don’t you ever come down from the mountain?” she asked.
“We put ourselves and our friends at risk every time we leave. None of us are allowed to go anywhere without a good reason. There’s a team that goes out to get weapons and supplies, but the rest of us stay here. I’m amazed they even let you come.”
“I found a young fighter by the name of Esat in the Jewish Cemetery. He felt sorry for me and arranged for me to come here so I could see you.”
“What were you doing up there? Are you crazy?”
Burhan reached over and put his hand on his wife’s.
“I had to find you. I must have looked pitiable. Burhan, I think you’re the only person who doesn’t take pity on me.”
“There’s never been anything pitiable about you. I always knew how strong you were. I tried to give you plenty of space because you were always complaining about how domineering your mother was when you were growing up. Perhaps I overdid it and left you on your own too often. But that’s all in the past. Our lives have taken a completely different course.”
Nimeta decided to change the subject. “Some things are getting better,” she said. “They put a lot of pressure on Milošević at the London Conference. You must have heard about the promises Milan Panić made. I’m glad he’s been appointed prime minister of Yugoslavia. He’s been living in the West for a long time and seems to know what human rights are.”
“He’s a puppet,” Burhan said. “Milošević is still the one holding the strings.”
“Haven’t you heard about the way Panić publicly humiliated Milošević and told him to shut up?”
“I’ve heard,” Burhan said, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if Panić got fired or killed. Let’s see how many of his promises he keeps. Do you really believe the Serbs will turn over their weapons? That their troops withdraw from the territories they’ve occupied? That they’ll make reparations for all their looting and killing?”
Nimeta couldn’t believe it. Her husband had never the slightest interest in politics. Now his eyes flashed as he spoke.
“They haven’t got any choice, Burhan,” she said, her voice weary. “The London Conference plans to impose heavy sanctions for noncompliance. Belgrade would starve.”
“Nothing will ever happen to those demons,” Burhan snorted.
“Well, what about you? How long do you think you can handle life up here in the mountains? Won’t you begin to miss home?”
“I’m fine here. In fact, I’m better than I’ve ever been. Take good care of yourself and the kids. Thank you for going to so much trouble to find me.”
Burhan got up. Fiko, who’d been watching them, came over, but he didn’t sit down.
“You’d better get going,” Burhan said. He squeezed his son’s shoulder.
Nimeta couldn’t bring herself to stand up.
“Don’t ever come here again,” Burhan told her. “You took a terrible risk. You could have come under enemy fire on the way.”
“Come on, Mom,” Fiko said. “Get up and let’s go.”
Clutching the edge of the table, Nimeta pulled herself to her feet. None of her fears had materialized. Burhan hadn’t ignored her or treated her harshly. Even so, she felt completely drained. She realized for the first time that her husband no longer belonged to her but to something intangible that had no place for her. Although Burhan appeared to be his usual mild self, something was raging behind the placid exterior. Nimeta blamed herself for her husband’s dangerous transformation. She went over and embraced him.
As he kissed her once again on the cheeks, tears welled up in her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and stayed like that for a moment. Then her arms fell helplessly to her side. He gave their son a more enthusiastic send-off, repeatedly kissing his cheeks, his forehead, and the top of his head.
The three of them walked over to the front of the shelter together. The soldiers who had brought them were waiting in the jeep. Burhan helped his wife into the vehicle.
“Godspeed,” he said.
“Dad, take care, and don’t get hurt,” Fiko called out.
“Look after your mother and Hana,” Burhan said.
As the jeep lurched to a start, Fiko leaned out and waved to his father. They watched him receding into the distance until they rounded the bend, and then he was gone. Nimeta knew she’d lost her husband. And she knew that she was partly responsible. But she also knew that he’d done his part to build a wall between them.
A few days later, in honor of their encounter with Burhan and his good health, they went to Raziyanım’s for a celebratory dinner. Even in that time of wartime privation, Raziyanım had managed to produce numerous dishes. Hana was as fidgety as ever, darting around the room and picking out a tune on her grandmother’s piano. Fiko was beaming, still thrilled that they’d found his father. But Nimeta’s listlessness didn’t escape her mother’s notice. Raziyanım kept pressing Fiko for more details about their encounter.
“When did your father say he was coming home?”
“When the war’s over,” Fiko said. “They’re all going to fight until the war’s over or they’re dead. That’s what the soldiers who took us there told me.”
Raziyanım glanced over at Raif to make sure he wasn’t listening. But he was staring at the wall, oblivious to their conversation. She still thought it best to change the subject. She tried not to use words like “war,” “gun,” and “blood” when he was in the room.
“Burhan loved this type of
börek
. That’s why I made it today,” she told her grandson. “Be sure to have an extra serving, since he’s not here to eat it himself.”
Fiko looked at his plate piled high with the savory pastry. “I wish he was here to eat it. He’s so skinny.”
“This
börek
doesn’t have any cheese,” Hana said. “Whatever’s inside it doesn’t have any taste.”
“How do you expect Grandma to find cheese these days?” Fiko asked his sister.
“What do you mean it hasn’t got any cheese? I made some cheese myself right here at home,” Raziyanım said.
She’d cooked up a pot of mushy rice and added salt and yeast to it. It was one of the many culinary tricks the women of Bosnia had mastered. Grown-ups had learned to accept these bland substitutions, but children were brutally honest.
“It doesn’t taste at all like the cheese we used to eat,” Hana said.
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t bring Burhan home with you,” Raziyanım said, changing the subject again, this time to avert a quarrel between her grandchildren. “You went all the way up there for nothing. If I’d been there, I’d have persuaded him to come home.”
“Mother, Burhan isn’t a child. He wants to stay there and fight. He’s got a mission and a duty.”
“He also has a family. How can he walk out on his wife and kids in the middle of a war?” Raziyanım asked.
“We’re fine,” Fiko said.
Raif hadn’t touched his food. As the man of the house, he sat at the head of the table, absorbed in his own little world, as always.
“We know you won’t talk, but you could at least eat,” his mother said.
Nimeta could not help giggling.
“It’s not funny,” Raziyanım said. “Not eating is his latest thing. It’s one thing not to talk, but if you don’t eat, you die.”
Maybe that’s what he wants
, Nimeta thought. So many people seemed eager to die these days. But she kept her thought to herself.
When Raziyanım was absolutely certain that Raif wasn’t following the conversation, she repeated the question that had been nagging at her: “Fiko, did your father tell you why he went up to the mountains?”
“I told you what he said, Grandma.”
“Tell me again.”
“Mother, what kind of a question is that?” Nimeta said. “Why do people fight for their homeland? Isn’t that what you’re really asking?”
She’d had it with her mother’s cross-examination of Fiko.
“I just asked a simple question,” Raziyanım said. “Why are you interrupting us?”
“Dad said he was doing his duty,” Fiko said. “He thinks everyone who’s able to carry a gun should be fighting for Bosnia.”
Raif shifted his gaze from the wall and looked at Fiko for the first time that night.
“Is that all he said? Duty?” Raziyanım persisted.
Hana broke in, “Mother, Zlata asked whether or not I’m going to have a birthday party. I told her I would.”
“That’s all we need right now,” Raziyanım said.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to speak with your mouth full?” Fiko said to his sister.
Deliberately flashing a mouthful of mashed potatoes, Hana said, “Her mother had a party for her on her birthday.”
“We’ll have one for you too, dear,” Nimeta said, relieved to be talking about something other than her husband’s sudden disappearance.
“Who would throw a party in wartime?” Raziyanım said.
“We should do whatever we can to make sure our children have normal lives,” Nimeta said. “And anyway, it would be the perfect opportunity for you to show off your cooking. You might learn to make a cake out of potatoes or some such thing.”
“You’ve always been envious of my cooking, Nimeta,” Raziyanım said. “If you’d spent more time in the kitchen and less time tapping away at a typewriter, your husband would still be at home with you today.”
She snatched away the untouched plate in front of Raif and flounced off to the kitchen.
Nimeta leaned over and remarked to her brother, “This has been quite a celebration, Raif. Like I always say, the handle of the spoon somehow always ends up poking me in the eye.” She gathered up the other plates and headed for the kitchen. Not wanting to be alone with her mother, she called out to the kids, “Bring in some of those things.”
“I’m going to do a puzzle,” Hana said.
Fiko didn’t even bother to respond.
Nimeta decided to confront her mother in the kitchen. “Listen to me, Mother,” she began. “Burhan’s decision has nothing to do with me. Stop blaming everything on me. I’ve really had it.”
“I’m not happy that you’re suddenly all alone in the middle of a war with no man around the house and two kids to look after.”
“We don’t always get what we want out of life,” Nimeta said. “Besides, aren’t you alone as well?”
Raziyanım opened her mouth to speak before thinking better of it.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got Raif,” Nimeta said.
When Nimeta and her mother reentered the dining room together, they were in for a shock. Raif and Fiko were huddled in a corner whispering about something. Raziyanım clutched her daughter’s arm, afraid for a moment that she was seeing things. Nimeta reached out and clapped a hand over her mother’s mouth. With the other hand, she tugged her mother back into the hall. The two women tiptoed backward into the kitchen. Nimeta closed the door.
“Mother, don’t do anything to agitate Raif, and don’t let on how excited you are,” Nimeta said.
Raziyanım was trembling. “Did I see right?” she asked. “Was he really talking? You saw it too, didn’t you?”
“I saw it too, Mother. He was definitely talking,” Nimeta assured her.
“Come on, let’s go back in.”
“No, Mother. Let’s not frighten him. Just give it a little more time.”
“There’s a miracle going on out there, and you won’t let me see it.”
“Please. Just wait here for fifteen or twenty minutes. It’s not like I’m asking you to stay in the kitchen all night.”
“He spoke! My son spoke!” Raziyanım sobbed.