by GlasOwl
II
Their mood was dim as Jeri and Kelly walked back toward their hotel outside the old city. Now that Jeri had filled her in on the current situation in Croatia -- and granted the information had been sketchy -- Kelly began to see troubling signs all around. There were the weary looking people, possible refugees. The red and white checkerboard shield, which Jeri had explained was the symbol for Croat nationalism, seemed to be everywhere, on cars going by, on flags in store windows, on t-shirts. At a kiosk, with a red and white checkerboard shield on it, of course, several papers carried pictures that showed obviously dead bodies.
"Those are pictures from World War Two," Jeri said when Kelly pointed. "The Croatians are dredging up all the old atrocities they say the Serbs committed then."
"You don't sound very sympathetic."
Jeri sighed and looked around to make sure there was no close enough to overhear. "Well, Croatia was no slouch either in the atrocity department. They allied with Nazi Germany and the story goes that the Germans were horrified by how viciously they went after Serb Partisans. I guess I'm surprised they want to bring up old atrocities at all."
"You sound aggravated."
"Actually, President Tudjman just infuriates me. He has a chance to make this a new kind of country and instead he promotes the same kind of diseased nationalism that's corrupting Serbia. You know, he's famous for writing this paper that argued against the charge that Croatians massacred so many hundred thousand Serbs in World War Two. Tudjman's point was that there weren't that many. Not that there was a problem with the killing, only a problem with the numbers. That's how they keep score here, Kelly."
Despite the grim bent of local politics, by the time Jeri and Kelly found a restaurant near their hotel, they discovered that they were ready for a tourist's evening. The seafood and wine were delicious, the conversation ordinary. They traded anecdotes from their childhood. Kelly had grown up in bucolic Ohio farm country, and Jeri had survived the seething urban cauldron of South Boston, but they could share silly stories involving younger siblings. Love had bound them together before they had time to exchange histories and inclinations and they were still learning about each other. Everything about the evening was ordinary, and this in itself was an extraordinary experience for them.
Kelly had learned how to savor moments stolen from disaster. Her last three years had been spent with her brother, George, and his lover, Russell. And then their friend -- her friend -- Billy. All three had been taken away by the relentless diseases of AIDS. You learned to accept the good times, learned not to let the grim specter of tomorrow intrude on this hour's grace. It was a lesson to be used now when the currents of danger were invisible to her and while Jeri's past hunted them like a dogged predator.
"Another carafe?" Kelly shared out the last of the wine. She looked about for a waiter but became distracted by the decor. The restaurant had pulled together random artifacts to suggest they were eating in the hall of some medieval castle.
Jeri leaned back in her chair and gazed at Kelly who was looking around with the curiosity of a tourist. Jeri still had difficulty believing in Kelly's existence. Hair the color of spun honey framed a face that appeared open and charmingly eager on first glance, but further depths were visible if you noticed the character in the firm mouth, the deep reserves of sea-green eyes where lines hinted at her recent collision with loss. A certain innocence still informed Kelly's strength. Jeri could see it clearly since her own had been lost long ago. A clutch of love and sadness rose in her. If only we'd met before, Jeri found herself thinking.
Before what? The astringent voice of her own irony asked and answered. Before you became a murderer? Contentment fled. The ease of the evening ebbed away and the awareness of her own moral predicament returned. She looked away.
"No. No more wine," Jeri said.
Kelly caught the end of the silent drama as she turned back to her companion, and it was testimony to the strength of their bond that she understood much of the reason for Jeri's averted gaze. "Do you want to go back to the hotel?" She asked quietly.
Jeri gazed at Kelly and smiled. She moved her hand to cover Kelly's on the table top. "I do, but I can't right now. I have to go out again. Do you want me to walk you back?"
Disappointed, Kelly kept her voice light. "No. We're just across the square. Go ahead. Will you be late?"
"Probably. I'm getting another car and papers. I'll wake you."
"Another car? Do you just order them up like cokes?"
"Yup. I don't really like the color of the one we have now. Besides, I need to talk to someone about the best way to get where we're going. I know it seems like I know a lot about the situation here, but there's considerably more that I don't."
"Okay. Jeri? Take care. I love you."
Jeri squeezed her hand.
Kelly watched Jeri rise and wind her way among the tables to the door. She paused in the doorway, smiled and waved, a small farewell gesture. Just a local woman who had dined with a friend from school days, or a foreign cousin, on her way home. She created a whole narrative in a few gestures. Kelly shook her head in admiration.
Kelly looked around the room. Two women sitting near the door were both watching as Jeri walked away. Kelly's heart skipped a beat. They were the two Scandinavian women from the city walls, her own age or less, and appeared to be tourists -- just as she did. Was this too much of a coincidence? As Kelly stared at them, one turned and caught her eye, and favored her with a wide smile. The stranger might as well have shouted over the dinner noise that she assumed they all belonged to the same sisterhood.
Maybe, Kelly thought, we should have a Rainbow L, our own version of the Scarlet A. We could sew it on our packs like the Canadian Maple Leaf. She finished her wine slowly but the heart had gone out of the evening. At least she had Rebecca West to read. She gathered her things together and prepared to leave.
As she walked by the two women, they both smiled at her and one said, "Have a glass of wine with us, mate?"
Not Scandinavian -- Australian. Healthy faces with open smiles, crinkled eyes, outdoor tans. Kelly was tempted by the invitation. Just to sit and share an hour or so. Check if they really were who they appeared to be. Enjoy the company. But there'd be questions. Even if they were just tourists they'd learn more about her and Jeri than they would know if she just left. And she'd have to be Laura, a little story, easy now, that might come back to haunt her later.
"No thanks," Kelly said with genuine regret. She hefted the copy of Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, exaggerating the weight. "I've got a bit of heavy reading to do."
When she got back to the hotel room, Kelly looked around and sighed. It was the most comfortable place she and Jeri been for a very long while. Comfortable and private. She'd had high hopes when she first saw the bed. Making love was difficult for Jeri at the best of times and it didn't take a degree or two in psychology to figure out why. She'd killed people and she was sorry and she'd arranged her own punishment with an emotional logic that defied reason. Then again, the logic just might be reasonable.
Kelly hadn't been surprised when Jeri, tired from driving the first day, had snuggled close and then fallen asleep. More than tired, exhausted. And last night the same behavior could be explained by similar reasons. But Kelly had hoped tonight would be different. No question that she found the situation frustrating but it was far from impossible. She could imagine no circumstances that would make being apart from Jeri better than being with her. They belonged together, that was all. Nothing more and nothing less than all.
But it would be nice to put this bed to more use than just sleeping.
Kelly picked up Black Lamb and Grey Falcon and randomly paged through the section on Dalmatia. She discovered that it was once called Illyria, and had been the home of the mother of Alexander the Great. Another Illyrian woman, Queen Teuta, had been accused of piracy by Rome. Disappointed that West had so little information about this apparently heroic woman, Kelly decided she might as well start at the book's beginning.
West's book had Kelly immediately. Clever Rebecca was a spinner of words: "The Slavs were a people, quarrelsome, courageous, artistic, intellectual, and profoundly perplexing to all other peoples... "West made an art of digression as she evoked the end of the Austro-Hungarian empire, which must have seemed to her like West's own world, teetering on the brink of World War Two, now seemed to Kelly. The mid-century seemed so close, just yesterday, but West made Kelly realize how quickly it, too, was slipping toward dusty shelves and cobwebs where the end of the last century now seemed to be. For Rebecca West, the royals of Central Europe were suffering through the last days of their waning power to influence world events, and West led them forward as if she knew them personally: the good Empress Elizabeth of Austria, the cruel Archduchess Sophia, the tragic and mysterious Archduke Rupert. Kelly felt like she was in a castle listening to horns in the distance telling of hunters riding through drifting snow.
"Hey, book worm. Let me take that."
Kelly barely woke as she felt the book lifted off her chin followed by the familiar sensation of a long body sliding in beside her.
"Hi, baby. Did you get your people met?"
"Yeah. Go on back to sleep."
"Mmm." Soft lips feathered over her forehead. Kelly tucked herself into the welcoming arms and then slid back into uneasy dreams of assassinations and betrayals.
Kelly woke early. She eased carefully from the bed and found her running
shorts and t-shirt. She debated whether to take a chance on waking Jeri
with a kiss before leaving, but then decided to take a moment just to enjoy
looking at her in the gray dawn light. Covered by a single sheet that was
tucked around her in folds reminiscent of a toga, Jeri was as close to
appearing relaxed as Kelly ever saw her. She lay on her side, her dark
hair loose and spread over the pillow. As Kelly looked, Jeri's eyes
opened, immediately alert as she took in Kelly and the room.
"Is everything okay?" Jeri asked.
"Oh, yes. I'm just getting ready to go run." Kelly stepped forward and kissed Jeri lightly and added, "Go back to sleep."
Their room was on the second floor and Kelly took the stairs down to the small lobby. Two young men behind the counter paused in their conversation as she crossed a tiled floor that was also a mosaic of sorts, portraying an underwater scene with an octopus and several dolphins. One man wore a white shirt, clearly marking his status compared to his companion who was slightly younger and wearing a polo shirt.
"Good morning, miss," said the older of the two. Both men smiled as they recognized her from the day before. It took so little, Kelly realized, for a traveler to lock onto a relationship. Two encounters and the stranger felt like an old friend.
Outside, in the pale light, Kelly went through her pre-run stretches. The air had a heady odor that moved her like an orchestral piece. Composed in part of hosed down sidewalks, harbor drift, and a number of things that might be better left unnamed, the overall effect was to create a smell that for the rest of her life would remind Kelly of dawn in Dubrovnik.
"Morning, mate. Mind if I run with you?" It was one of the Australian women. She jogged in place as she waited for an answer.
"No. Nice to have the company."
"Which way were you going?"
"I thought I'd head to the road along the sea. It goes up about a mile out and has a great view."
"Good choice. Liz thinks I'm crazy to use good sleeping time for running, but I like being out this time of day. Carol. Carol Willis."
The Australian woman stopped jogging and waited for Kelly to finish her stretch routine. Carol Willis showed Kelly a face so open and a smile so wide that Kelly couldn't believe there was anything remotely sinister to it. She was a bit taller than Kelly, somewhat more muscular. Her thighs were obviously those of a runner.
"Laura," Kelly said, giving the name on the passport she was using. She extended a hand and received a firm, sisterly grasp in response. Kelly had a whole theory of the differences in handshakes between straight and gay women. "I like this time of day, too."
"Was that good-looking babe your girlfriend?" Carol made the question cheeky but charming.
"Connie's my cousin," Kelly answered, "but she is a babe, isn't she?" She and Jeri had decided that 'cousin' could cover a multitude of consanguinities.
Jeri lay awake listening to Kelly walk down the hall to the stairway. Listening to events take place outside her range of vision was a skill that she'd perfected in an Irish prison. She stretched and tried to go back to sleep but found that her mind was quite awake.
They needed to leave soon. Jeri had learned from her contacts that the political crisis in Yugoslavia was moving much faster than anyone had been expecting. Croatia didn't really want to declare independence -- at least not now -- but Slovenia did, and soon. If Croatia got left behind while her sister republic declared independence, then Croatia would be at the mercy of Serbia because the President of Serbia -- Milosevic was his name, Slobodan Milosevic -- had managed to maneuver so that he had more voting power than any of the other presidents. To Jeri's way of thinking, there wasn't a dime's worth of difference between Milosevic of Serbia and Tudjman of Croatia; they were both willing to whip up dangerous nationalistic passions in order to get power. The major difference was that Milosevic also had control of the Yugoslav army, one of the biggest and best-equipped in the world.
Jeri didn't have much sympathy for Croatia. Kelly had guessed right about that. Tudjman and his party had put it in their constitution that Croatia was the state of the Croatian nation, a short little phrase that meant nobody but an ethnic Croatian could be a citizen. How could any other group feel safe when they were constitutionally defined as second class? It was a situation that made Croation Serbs understandably nervous. Truth be told, Jeri rather preferred Serbia. It was a scrappy country, a lot like Ireland, that had fought for centuries to maintain its identity while ruled by foreigners.
Jeri realized if she was awake enough to start taking sides in an area as complicated as the Balkans, she might as well get up. It didn't matter who was who here. What mattered was that she and Kelly needed to get to Vukovar and find Rafi's sister. And it was high time to leave Dubrovnik. There were rumors of fighting in the Krajina, the border region between Croatian and Bosnia that she'd told Kelly about. Add to that those two blond women in the restaurant last night. Jeri had seen them on the walls around the Old City earlier, and it wasn't that such a coincidence was so odd, but Jeri hadn't stayed alive and free by believing in innocent coincidences.
She wasn't entirely sure that she bought the whole story about Rafi, either. It could be a set up. He'd included a personal note in his message -- "I so desire to see the home of my youth, its streets, its streetcars." -- that Jeri was more inclined to believe it came from Rafi than not. The whimsy of calling for Stella had made any reference to "A Streetcar Named Desire" a personal code for them, but Rafi was in prison and strange things could happen there. The problem was that if Jeri believed the message to be even remotely true, she owed it to Rafi to try and help. It was time to go.
Jeri felt the increase in consciousness as she got up and found a map that would show her the best route from Dubrovnik to Vukovar. Her mind was working faster, her instincts on alert, all her sensations heightened. Truth was, she liked this edge.
Kelly and Carol jogged away from the hotel and then turned toward the harbor. Their run took them past a fish market bustling with activity. Fishermen mingled with restaurant owners and householders while their boats rocked gently in the background.
Kelly found her stride and let the run take her. She'd started jogging after she began caring for George and Russell. Some physical outlet had been necessary. Running had become a flexible metaphor: sometimes she was training, like Rocky Balboa for the big fight; sometimes she was running away, fleeing from death. Lately, no matter what direction she took, she was running toward Jeri. Words borrowed inexactly from one of George's favorite Simon & Garfunkel albums would fill her mind like a mantra: "And when I ran to you, your cheeks flushed with the night. . ."
The Australian woman was running alongside, slightly ahead. Kelly noticed that, imperceptibly, Carol Willis had increased the pace for both of them. It wasn't a hard stride to match. Kelly could manage the increase with no difficulty. They ran on past buildings and out onto a clear stretch of road that inclined slightly upwards, taking them to a low ridge behind the city. The sun rose above the horizon, already strong and hot, but the dawn wind still provided relief.
Illyria had been the name of this coast in past times, Kelly remembered from Rebecca West's book. Before the Romans controlled the world, Greek ships had sailed along these shores. Kelly felt as if she'd run here before, along this sea, breathing this same salt-scented air. Something she knew seemed to hover just ahead, just past awareness, as if what she could see was only a thin veil trembling between her and a deeper knowing. She ran toward knowing but it fled even as she approached.
Kelly estimated the time they had been out, the distance they had been gone. "Let's head back," she said to Carol.
They changed direction and saw Dubrovnik wavering in the light and shadows of early morning. They had come further than Kelly thought. The coast road that angled up on the way out was now a downward slope and the runner's speed increased. The sea, visible over the edge of the road, was a classic blue, a Michelangelo painting blue. Kelly slowed deliberately, savoring the view. Running fast was rarely her preference, though on the few occasions that she had run with Jeri she'd sometimes let the former track star nudge her into a race. And not done too shabby either. Carol Willis slowed her pace, but before long she had them both gaining speed again.
She said it was a loose rock. Kelly hadn't noticed it. All she noticed was that suddenly Carol gave a cry that might have been a warning and fell into her, knocking her sprawling to the side of the road and over the edge. For an instant, Kelly had a sickening view of rocks far below, jutting up through the thin water of low tide, and she would have fallen onto them but for luck. Luck and being on a stride that carried her past the danger. As it was, she hit the ground hard on the other side of the drainage culvert, and if the fall wasn't far, she still scraped her hands and bruised a knee.
Carol Willis had her own scrapes and bruises. Tears welled in her eyes as she apologized over and over. Both women examined themselves for signs of anything worse than superficial wounds and it was Carol Willis who was limping as they returned to the city. Even so, Kelly had her doubts. They'd been running too fast. She'd been pushed to run fast. And the fall had taken place at the one spot along the road where the danger could have been lethal, not just painful.
But why would anyone want to hurt her? Maybe she was just mad. Hurt and mad and willing to place even more blame on the Australian woman than she deserved. Kelly kept her feelings hidden as she walked Carol to the woman's hotel and said good-bye.
"Maybe we can get together for dinner tonight," Carol asked. "Please. On me. I owe you one, really."
"Don't worry about it. Accidents happen. If Connie doesn't have plans I'll stop by tomorrow and see how you are. Get some rest."
It was only around the corner and up the street a few doors to her own hotel. She supposed Carol could really have come out and seen her getting ready to jog.
"Kell! Baby, what happened to you?" Jeri was up and dressed.
Kelly limped to the sink and got a wet cloth. She would have started washing off the grimy bruise on one knee, but Jeri took the cloth, guided her to a chair, and began a gentle cleansing while Kelly told her the story. She started with seeing the women on Dubrovnik's wall the evening before.
Jeri kept her head bent down as she listened. She could barely keep her hands from clenching and she knew there would be no hiding the fury that had her heart beating wildly if she looked up. She was a fool, a complete fool. She had seen the women and she had let Kelly go out on her own this morning. And congratulated herself on her 'edge.' If anything had happened to Kelly -- she felt a wave of fear that surged through her like nausea.
"It doesn't matter really, Jeri said after the story was finished. She had her anger under control. "If you have any doubts at all, you act on them." She had turned over one of Kelly's hands and tenderly kissed the wrist above the scraped palm. "I saw them last night. I thought they'd be watching me. I'm so sorry."
Jeri had finally managed to look at her and Kelly looked into eyes that were shimmering with sorrow and anger. "It's alright, really, but what are we going to do if we see them again?"
"We won't. We're leaving as soon as we can get ready. There'll be a new car waiting for us. Well, not new. It's another Yugo, but a different year and color. There. How do you feel now?"
"I'm fine, honey, really. Thanks." Kelly got up and walked over to the small balcony. She leaned against the iron railing, surprised that she was going to miss this city. A slice of sunlight was moving into the shadowed square and Kelly inhaled deeply the scented morning air. A toddler, boy or girl was impossible to make out from this angle, ran laughing across the cobbles while its mother followed leisurely. The scene really begged for a video camera. It would be ever so nice to just be a tourist for another day or two, with nothing to decide but which museum to see, and where to have lunch, and whether to look at old churches or explore the narrow alleys.
Jeri was thinking about three IRA Provos she had known -- by reputation, not as personal friends. They had been in Gibralter when their car blew up. The message from the British service had been simple: "Don't ever think you're safe; we're going to get you." She needed to tell Kelly.
Kelly felt a hand on her shoulder, easing her back from the balcony into the twilight of the hotel room. She turned, surprised to find Jeri drawing her even closer, enfolding her into arms that were near to trembling with the need to protect her. She held her breath. Jeri's face was so close, her blue eyes gone very dark, her expression extraordinarily intent. She leaned forward until her lips touched Kelly's. Ever so carefully, Kelly responded, thinking that at the next instant Jeri would break contact. For the sake of vigilance, Jeri rarely encouraged a daytime encounter. Jeri held her even tighter and Kelly's caution began to evaporate. The kiss became deeper until both of them were breathing raggedly.
There was something luxurious about making love during daylight. Luxurious and very personal. They lay on the bed, easing one another out of their clothing, eyes so full of intensity that gaze itself became a caress. They moved over and along and back again, savoring the availability of bare skin, enjoying the roundness of breast and belly, taking time to admire strong arms and thighs, to appreciate a sloping back.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No. This is just the thing to keep me from stiffening up." Only the scrapes on her palms gave Kelly undue distress, but she worked around that.
Kelly thought they might just make it through this time until she felt Jeri begin to tremble. "Baby, what is it?" Kelly whispered. "What?"
But Jeri shook her head and buried her face in Kelly's neck and moved Kelly on top of her and pressed her so close that they nearly merged. Any way Kelly moved was a pleasure. Somehow Jeri managed to slide a hand where the contact sent a surge of sensation flooding through her. Kelly let go of any attempt to stay part of the play as she felt Jeri move into her.
"Baby, let me." Jeri slipped out from beneath, turning Kelly on her back.
"Oh yes."
Jeri set a steady rhythm, entering deeper and deeper with each exit and return. Usually Kelly got lost in the feeling, as if gliding on dreams into a dark river, but today she stayed in the sensations, the heady smells, the wet and slippery sounds, moving higher and higher at Jeri's urging.
"Please, now," Kelly pleaded.
"Not yet, baby, not yet," Jeri breathed into her ear and pushed deeper.
Impossible for Kelly to take in more.
"Now, baby, now." Jeri's mouth was around her ear and her voice was inside her and Kelly came in a series of implosions that left her shredded, exhausted, gasping.
They lay together, their breathing becoming slower. Kelly opened her eyes to see Jeri's head resting on her. A wisp of hair curled damply along the back of Jeri's neck. Idly Kelly traced the length of it.
Kelly didn't plan what came next. Making love to Jeri took patience and attention because the woman carried far too many memories to allow pleasure to be simple. Usually, Kelly kept her head close to Jeri's so that she could listen to changes in breathing, adjust according to shifting emotions. But, in the calm that followed her own release, she was so bemused that she began kissing aimlessly, mindlessly, fondly. Slowly at first, Jeri began to respond, and then Kelly's awareness of Jeri's growing desire rekindled her own. It wasn't simply that her hands were sore, Kelly was hungry for Jeri. She wanted to be filled with this woman who had arrived in answer to every hope she'd ever cherished, every dream of love she had nurtured but hidden away, fearing that such desires for meaning, for caring, for utter trust, were impossible outside of dreams. Love and desire, the beat and counterbeat of her heart, swept her on, and when, predictably, she felt Jeri begin to draw away, Kelly would have none of it. She insisted, tenderly and tolerantly, but she still insisted, and after a while she felt Jeri give way to her, felt resistance melt and slowly transform.
Kelly opened to the fear and need in Jeri's response: she was so afraid for Kelly, afraid of her own intensity, afraid of the turbulent storm of emotions that were being invoked, that flared and shook. And truth to tell, Kelly was hard put to ride out the rise and fall of anger followed by pain, by rage that was succeeded by remorse, by despair that trembled toward hope. The terrible thing was how quickly and quietly each of these extremes claimed Jeri and then swung on to the next. But Kelly stayed focused, steady, until she heard her own name called over and over, and in a long, sobbing shudder, Jeri came to her.
Once again they lay together, tangled and damp.
"You're so beautiful." Jeri seemed unaccountably shy. She raised herself on an elbow and her hair fell around both of them as she kissed Kelly's brow. "I love you so much."
Simple words, prosaic; Kelly heard poetry.