Strings Attached
part 2
by Mrs. Eyre
Food was ordered, eaten, conversation conducted. Tatijana took it upon herself to draw Abby out of herself, prodding gently about her work, her likes, her dislikes, telling her about the protests of the three children at being left behind in the care of a neighbour. "Anna so wanted to meet you. She's terribly in love with her uncle."Abby fought back the impulse to say that at that precise moment Anna would be more than welcome to him. By the time she excused herself to go to the ladies room she felt as though she were in the middle of an out of body experience, her breath threatening to kill her. She didn't dare look in the mirror, knowing that the anger and bitterness she would read there would be all too horribly familiar.
Bastard, you bastard, sonofabitch goddammed fucking bastard, you did this to me, how could you do this to me?
It wasn't their fault she reminded herself, they didn't know that she'd been thrown into this all unawares. But God, the black, burning hatred she felt for Luka extended to them too. What were they saying in her absence? They were sure to be surprised that she wasn't prettier, more vivacious, taken aback at her ordinariness, her unsuitability for their darling. She stopped herself there, a little ashamed. She didn't know anything of the sort. Tatijana had been warm, drawing her into the conversation; Damir had been polite but awkward, ploughing stolidly through his dinner. Ivica had hardly spoken to her for all that he had insisted that she sit at his side, but she had caught his amused glances from her to Luka and back again. Luka. Bastard. Little matter that his eyes spoke of his guilt, his regret, were filled with a plea for forgiveness. Sonofabitch. She had to go back, had to face them, only her anger sustaining her now.
Deep breath, Abby. You're on
The table had been cleared and coffee ordered. Ivica, Damir and Luka all rose as she returned to the table, as they had when she left it, sitting again only when Ivica had pushed her chair in for her. He poured coffee for her, and she watched as the others poured Loza, following up the glass after glass of wine they had downed with dinner. Ivica turned his chair toward her.
Here we go.
"So, you don't drink."
"Can't drink. Not sensibly."
Ivica nodded, sagely. "It's good that you know. This doesn't bother you?" He held up his glass.
"Not at all."
"But you'll have a cigarette with your coffee?"
"Yes."
"They're American. I love my country but - the cigarettes are not so good." He held out the pack first to her and then to Luka who shook his head and Abby was gratified to see him flush a little. Ivica smiled and shook his head.
"Schizo"
"What?"
"If we were in Croatia he would take one."
"So not so much schizo as hypocrite then."
Ivica frowned a little. "How harsh. Are you only one person, then?"
"What?"
Ivica shrugged. "We're all more than one person. I never smoked in front of my grandmother. Don't look at Luka, look at me, let him talk to them." Luka was indeed talking to his brother and sister in law. She had no idea what about because their conversation was conducted in Croatian. Ignorant bastard.
"He thinks I shouldn't smoke."
"You shouldn't" he said, blowing smoke over her head.
"That's kinda my decision, don't you think?"
"Absolutely. And then, we all need our little acts of defiance."
"I'm not defying anyone."
"Medical science, common sense, your parents ... Luka."
"Not my parents." Ivica's eyes gleamed.
"Luka told me about your mother." Abby was aware of Luka's uneasy glance.
"I'm sure."
"Oh, not much, only that she has been ill. I knew woman with same illness once. She was married to a piano teacher, friend of my wife."
"How interesting."
"Her husband laughed about it. He laughed a lot."
"Laughed?"
"Yes, you know - instead of crying. Which would have been his only other choice. Wouldn't it?"
"Would you pour me some water, please?"
"But of course. So, Chicago. Good place to be? For my boy?"
"As good as any."
"Not really," Ivica said, his voice suddenly quiet. "Some places are not so good; not good at all. Now me, I can live anywhere, countryside, city, by the sea. Luka grew up in countryside, but look at him now, city boy." Abby looked at Ivica askance. Of all the people she'd ever known Luka was the one who most often seemed ill at ease in the city, the noise and press of people seeming often to trouble him. "American cities are different from home" Ivica continued. "Zagreb, Dubrovnik, Split." He paused. "Vukovar. Vukovar isn't like anywhere you've ever seen, not now. But the others, they're ... softer, stones are kinder, noise is more ... human. This seems a very hard place."
"You just got here."
"Then best person to judge. My own city is fresh in my mind."
"People get used to it."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure people can get used to anything. I don't know if that means they should."
"I don't understand."
"A friend of mine told me a joke once, I don't remember it, he was very bad at telling jokes, but right at the end the, er, the ..."
"Punchline"
"Punchline, yes, thank you, the punchline is that a man tells to his friend that he had a really great horse; and he'd just got it used to living on nothing but fresh air - and then the damned thing died. People get used to being alone, being lonely, fearful, hopeless, sleeping alone. They get used to living on nothing. And then they die. Luka, he got used to all those things, so used to them that I didn't recognise him for a time. I thought he'd die. But he didn't, because now ... now he has you. And all is well."
Abby felt herself soften a little then and glanced at Luka; caught him looking anxiously back at her. God, he was beautiful. She felt a little stab of desire worry her stomach; supressed it, looked back at Ivica who was watching her carefully. "Is it?" he asked, softly.
"Sure."
"And yet you are angry with him tonight."
"I really don't think that -"
"I have been impertinent. I worry. He's my son and I worry. You will forgive me." It wasn't a question.