Flashback
Part Three
By Pebbles
Pebbles@ukgateway.net
Rated NC-17 for language and sexual content.
No sooner has Dr Kovac left my side than they start to move me from the ER. It is a
strange dizzying sensation as I am wheeled around corners, down the hallway and then into
an elevator. I know it is an elevator from the hissing sound of the doors closing even
before it starts to move. I wonder how long I have been here in the hospital –I’ve
lost all sense of time. I wonder if anyone has missed me yet – I hope not.
We are back on the road and well into Bosnia now. The scenery here is beautiful –
sheer rock faces tower above the road with patterned cliffs overhanging us on either side.
I have been telling Elaine about how Dugi handled Sophie.
“You know, I think he must have had children of his own. He just
had a knack – like he had done it countless times before. And you should have seen
the way he looked at her. It broke my heart!” I have been prattling on about him for
ages with almost no response from Elaine. She appears to be concentrating only on the
road, which is just as well as it twists and turns alarmingly.
Eventually she breaks her silence but it is not to respond to my
eulogy on Dugi. “What about Bob then, is it really all over between you two?”
“Well I want to cool it off but, well Bob’s not someone you
can easily say ‘no’ to.” I recall our last conversation over dinner last
week. “If its something he doesn’t want to hear he just ignores it!”
“I thought it was serious between you two?”
“Yeah, he was getting very serious! He wanted me to go with him
to Chicago this Easter. Meet the family!” Just talking about it makes a knot form in
my stomach. “I think he was going to propose. ”
“Holly cow!” Elaine sounds like she’s mocking me.
“ Mum and Dad are going to be disappointed. They were really taken with him. Thought
the sun shone out of his backside I’d say!”
“They’re easily impressed. Bob’s family is loaded.
Every time I took him home for the weekend he’d come armed with a case of vintage
port for Dad and a Hermes scarf or something for Mum. They were eating out of his hand!”
I try not to sound bitter. When I first met Bob I too had been swept away by his
generosity.
“So is it that you’re just not ready to settle down or is
it something about Bob?” She says his name with extra emphasis on the last b.
I think about this for a moment “He overwhelms me. When I’m
with him I’m not me anymore.” I look over at Elaine - she is nodding. I try and
elaborate. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s got a lot going for him: rich, good
looking, charming but he’s also ruthless, domineering and way too into himself.”
“Well so much for Bob then!” Elaine laughs.
The sudden braking of the Army Landrover in front of us interrupts
our conversation. Elaine slams on the breaks. The van twitches a little but stops just in
time. A strong smell of burning rubber fills the cab. There is a roadblock of sorts up
ahead - just a wagon parked across the road but it is guarded by several paramilitary
types, who look like they mean business.
“Shit!” Elaine winds down her window to try and get a
better view. Lieutenant Hamilton and Mike are out of their vehicle already and soon Zarko
and Dugi join them. The four of them approach the roadblock together.
“What do we do if they start shooting?” I anxiously ask
Elaine. My question is answered by Digger who leans in at the open window.
“Stay in the van, keep the engine running. If there’s
trouble reverse back up the road as fast as you can and retrace the route to our lunch
stop. Wait there for further instructions.” His usually cheerful face has taken on a
grim expression.
“What if no one comes?” Elaine is forthright in voicing our
fears.
“Wait a couple of hours and then you’ll have to retrace the
entire route back to Austria. But it shouldn’t come to that.” He moves on to the
next vehicle in the convoy. Elaine and I exchange worried glances. Shit indeed.
We can do nothing but sit and wait and observe the little pageant
that unfolds before us. We are obviously on the outskirts of a village. A small crowd has
gathered beyond the roadblock. They are mostly youths – not much more than children.
Zarko is talking animatedly, his arms waving in punctuation of his words. Lieutenant
Hamilton and Mike hold their weapons at readiness. Dugi still caries his riffle slung
casually over his back.
I notice that Elaine is gripping the steering wheel so tight that her
knuckles are white. I light a cigarette and my hands are shaking. There is a lot of head
shaking on the part of the paramilitaries but after what seems like an eternity they look
like they are going to let us through.
They pull the wagon to the side and Mike gives us the thumbs up
signal. He and the Lieutenant are getting back into their vehicle and Zarko and Dugi are
walking towards us. Suddenly a stone is thrown – it hits Dugi smack on the side of
the head and he goes down like a tree being felled. Zarko drops to his knees beside him.
Instantly, Mike is back out of the Landrover and together he and Zarko drag him into the
back of the vehicle and pile in after him.
With a roaring of engines the whole convoy moves off. No more stones
are thrown nor shots fired. Neither Elaine nor I say a word. I bite my lip until it bleeds
trying to fight down the bile that rises in my throat. As we pass the crowd of onlookers
they jeer and shout –I have no doubt that they would attack us if we were not armed.
About two or three miles up the road the Landrover swerves off the
road and stops. Without thinking I jump straight down from the cab, before Elaine has even
turned off the engine. They have already lifted Dugi back out of the Landrover and he is
conscious. I know this because he has struggled to his feet and is backing away from them
– a wild look in his eyes.
Zarko is talking to him in Croatian. He is using a soothing tone
– no doubt trying to calm him down. But nothing he can say will get Dugi to let them
near him. Blood is pouring from his head and soaking into his shirt. He staggers as he
backs away.
“We’ll just have to wait until he collapses.”
Lieutenant Hamilton is saying to the others.
“Let me try.” I am astounded to realise that the voice is
mine. Hearing no quarrel with this I walk slowly towards Dugi and as I get nearer his
attention switches to me. He stops backing up and stands still staring at me.
“Its alright, I’m not going to hurt you.” I reach out
my hands towards him. Still he doesn’t move. I walk nearer until I can almost touch
him. I stop – my eyes locked with his. “Please, will you let me help you?”
He lurches slightly and I throw my arms round him to try and offer support. Slowly
he sinks to the ground, leaning on clumsily me as he does so.
The others come towards us but he immediately stiffens and starts to
try and get up again. “Maybe you should stay away for now.” I suggest “Just
tell me what to do.” Dugi relaxes again, his head leaning against my chest.
“OK, I’ll bring over the medical kit and then I’ll
back off – is that OK?” The Lieutenant has grasped the situation and, hearing no
argument from me proceeds to do what he suggested. As soon as he is ten paces away he
begins to coach me on first aid procedures.
“Ignore the wound for now – you need to check his vitals.
Take his pulse first – have you got a second hand on your watch?” The Lieutenant’s
business like manner calms me. I gently lower Dugi down until his head is resting in my
lap. He looks up at me – there is trust in his eyes.
I take his wrist and feel for a pulse – it seems faint but I’m
not sure how it should feel. I wait until the second hand is at twelve before starting to
count. The watch is a Cartier – a present from Bob on my birthday. I push these
thoughts out of my mind.
“That’s good – now his Resps. Count how many times his
chest rises in a minute.”
I watch his chest rise and fall inside his bloodied shirt. I can hear
him breathing too – it has a ragged quality. “Err, twenty two – I think.”
“Good – you’re doing fine. Now for the blood pressure.
You’ll find the cuff in the bag. Do you know how to put it on?”
“I think so.” I’ve watched when I’ve had my blood
pressure taken – how hard can it be? I pull up his sleeve to well above the elbow so
that I can wrap the cuff around bare skin. It’s an electronic one so I just wait for
it to take the readings and call them out “120 over 70.”
Next I check his ears for any blood or fluids; ask him to squeeze my
hands in turn and test his pupils with a torch. Everything seems OK. Finally I feel over
his head and am not surprised to find quite a lump where the stone struck him. The wound
is still bleeding profusely.
“Don’t worry about that. Just whack a dressing on for now
and we’ll take another look at it when we reach camp tonight.”
I help Dugi back up to his feet and walk him back towards the others.
“He can ride with you in the Luton.” Suggests the
Lieutenant. “You’ll need to check those vitals every fifteen minutes to start
with and then, if they remain the same after an hour you can reduce them to half hourly.
We should make camp in about two hours. Oh, and by the way - he may well be sick. So be
prepared!”
As if on cue, Dugi suddenly lurches away from me and throws up. He
sinks to his knees as he heaves and my heart goes out to him. I put my hands on his
shoulders and hold them until he is finished. I then take a dressing from the bag and
wetting it with a bottle of mineral water proceed to bathe his face and beard.
His shirt is a mess – covered with vomit and blood. “Can
you get him a clean shirt?” I ask Zarko and he soon returns with a slightly less
grimy specimen. Together we help him out of the soiled one and into the other. Again I am
treated to the awful sight of his scars.
He seems drowsy now and puts up no resistance when Zarko and Mike
help him into the van. I climb in after him with the medical bag. Please don’t let
him lose consciousness – he must stay awake. Before we are even moving off I start
checking his vitals. I decide to leave the blood pressure cuff on his arm to save time.
It’s the longest two hours of my life – so far. Dugi’s
vitals remain the same, if anything his respirations and pulse slow a little now that he
is no longer agitated. But he is barely conscious at first and I find it hard to think of
conversation to keep him alert. Eventually I hit on the idea of putting Sophie on his lap
where she sleeps contentedly, nestling against his chest and I am pleased to see that he
watches her constantly and gently strokes her back.
Whenever I check his vitals he responds to my touch by transferring
his gaze to me. His eyes are a beautiful dark hazel-green. I find myself transfixed by
them and have to struggle to drag my eyes away and concentrate on what I am doing. Elaine
is strangely silent - just occasionally commenting on the scenery. We pass several small
villages that are completely deserted – most of the houses burnt to the ground. I
begin to understand why the villagers back there had been so hostile. Any strangers could
be a potential threat to them – even us.
At last we have arrived at our overnight camp. I wait in the van with
Dugi until Mike and Digger have finished pitching the tents. Lieutenant Hamilton comes
over and checks my notes. He suggests that I try and clean up the wound, which to my
relief has stopped bleeding.
“Shall we get out now?” Dugi answers my question by
unfastening his seat belt. I climb out first and then offer my hand to help him. I am
surprised that he takes it as he doesn’t really lean on me at all – he has
become much more steady on his feet. But he continues to go along with my efforts to help
him – draping one arm around my shoulder as we walk. My shoulder fits right under his
armpit – such is the difference in our heights.
I sit him down on the ground outside my tent and then get together
what I need to clean up the wound. The blood has dried in his hair – it’s not
going to be an easy job. Mrs Barton brings us some coffee and I watch Dugi as he piles
three spoonfuls of sugar into the steaming mug. After taking a sip he pulls a face of
disgust. I can’t suppress a giggle.
“It’s pretty awful isn’t it?” I whisper in a
conspirital tone. “I don’t think she actually puts any coffee in it at all!”
Dugi smiles! It’s not the broadest of smiles but it reaches his
eyes, which gleam. I feel elated. I suddenly have an idea.
“Would you let me cut your hair?” His smile disappears.
“It’s just that it’s a bit of a mess with the dried blood – it would
help me clean the wound properly.” He looks worried. “I won’t do it if you
don’t want me to.” I touch his arm to show him that I mean this but he still
looks worried. Still not sure whether he will let me do it or not I go and get some
scissors from my bag.
“If you don’t want me to do this just stop me – OK?”
I’m kneeling in front of him with the scissors in my hand. He does nothing –
just gazes into my face with no clue I can read in his expression as to what he is
thinking. I shrug and set to work.
I’m no hairdresser but I have cut my Dad’s hair on a few
occasions. These are not the best scissors either but they will have to do. I start
on the back and sides. It takes me some time just to hack off the excess, which falls to
the ground in an impressive heap. His hair is jet-black and thick. As I run my fingers
through it, it feels strong.
Gradually I establish a shape and discover his ears. They are finely
formed and I cut the hair carefully around them. Next I move to the top of the head,
leaving this just a little longer than the back and sides. And finally I move back to the
front to check that the cut is even. I feel Dugi’s eyes burning into me and realise
that as I concentrate on the cutting I have been poking my tongue out of the side of my
mouth – a habit Elaine has often teased me about. I feel the heat rising in my face
but can do nothing to stop the tell tale blush.
“Let me get you a mirror.” I mumble as I quickly rise to my
feet. I almost bump right into Elaine who has been watching the performance. “Why
didn’t you tell me I was poking my tongue out?” I whisper into her ear.
“Why worry about your tongue when you were practically rubbing
your tits in his face!” Elaine’s whisper sends me several darker shades of red.
God damn it! Why does she have to be so coarse? I dive into the tent and search for a
mirror. When I have found it I linger a few moments longer to compose myself. I convince
myself that Elaine is just being spiteful – I have evidently been neglecting my
baby-sitting duties. I change into a pair of baggy cargo pants and slip on a cardigan
– perhaps my denim shorts and ribbed camisole top were a little er….skimpy. The
evening is getting cold anyway.
I hand Dugi the mirror but he only gives himself a cursory glance and
then hands it back. I don’t know whether he likes it or not but I’m pleased with
it. Feeling encouraged I venture another big step.
“How about the beard, then?” I raise an eyebrow “Can I
cut that too?” Hardly waiting for a response I slip my hand into its wiry mass and
move in with the scissors. His hand darts up and grabs my wrist – holding it firmly
in mid air. “I’ll be careful.” I plead. He scowls at me but eventually lets
go.
Working very carefully I trim the hair back as close to the skin as I
can. Although it looks a lot better than before it’s pretty uneven and I wish I could
see him clean-shaven. I hand him the mirror again and as he runs his fingers over his chin
I summon all my courage.
“It would look a lot better if we took it all off.” I am
rewarded with a nod of agreement. I wonder if he has a razor – obviously not.
Eventually Zarko produces one from his kit bag together with some shaving foam. It’s
a cut-throat! I look at it and then at Dugi. “I have no idea how to do this.” I
say, shaking my head. I’m so disappointed.
I am surprised when he reaches out and gently takes them from me. He
squeezes out some of the foam and rubs it into his beard. Tentatively at first I lean
forward and help him spread it evenly – our fingers touch from time to time but
neither of us pulls away. Getting bolder I massage it in until almost all his face is
covered in the white foam.
Then, after wiping his fingers on the towel he picks up the razor and
opens it out. He tests its sharpness on his thumb. Satisfied, he places it carefully in my
hand. His fingers close over mine and he guides my hand up towards his face until the
blade is right against his skin.
I’m sure that I have stopped breathing. He guides my hand and
the blade in it down his cheek in sure and steady strokes. My hand is the only part of me
that is not trembling locked, as it is in his firm grip. After a few minutes there is less
foam on his face and more bare skin coming into view. He hands me the mirror which I hold
up for him whilst he finishes off the tricky areas himself. Finally he wipes off the rest
of the foam and I stare in amazement at the man who has emerged from under all that hair.
He is so handsome! No – he’s beautiful but in an entirely
masculine way. His cheekbones are high and aristocratic. His nose finely formed. His mouth
– I realise that I am staring at him but I can’t help myself. He smiles – a
little crookedly but it lights up his eyes. I finally breathe out. “Well, we did a
good job!” I grin back at him. Instinctively I raise my hand to touch his now smooth
cheek but I just manage to stop myself in time. I feel another blush rising from my neck.
“We…er… haven’t checked your vitals in a while…”
End of part three