“No problem.” Nora stepped back with a smile. “No need. We’ll be professional; thank you, Zvonko,” she said to the man twice her size who was lumbering her way. She turned and went out into the street. Her cell phone almost fell from her hand as she sprinted to the hotel.
20.
Synchro
I came to carry you
to the homes of my ancestors
to tell you there is no night
you should give up
desire is hunger is fire
now (fall 2010)
A young nun was sitting on a stool out by the entrance to the general hospital, strumming a guitar. The Messiah will come. In front of her stood two more nuns, thrilling aggressively to God’s mercy. With them in their circle were a dozen middle-aged women, hopping from foot to foot with the cold, and a man in a public works uniform who was going from one to the next, offering them chocolates from a box. They took the chocolates, but since they were singing and being filmed for a local TV crew, they didn’t put the chocolates into their mouths but instead held them behind their backs until they melted in their fingers. Later they licked their fingers on the sly. Up on the second floor, closer to God, where the inharmonious strains of the poorly written songs, unrealistic hopes, and tacky melodies reached, was the ward for gynecology and obstetrics. Another man in the group outside, the leader of the national Initiative for Life, stepped forward, military style, and barked into his megaphone:
“And I am especially glad that your city has joined our initiative with the goal of forcing the hospital to cease offering abortions; we hope the mothers will understand that what they are carrying under their heart is alive, our brother or sister, and we love them and want them!” At this point applause erupted among those who were gathered, while only a dozen feet above them the ward’s head nurse looked down at them and silently closed the window.
Nora was on her way back to the hotel from the assembly, back to the chaos of her room, holding her cell phone all the while. With no plan. An icy wind blasted her in the face. Wasn’t there a kind of cake called “Icy Wind”? Her tears chilled her red cheeks and left dark tracks down them. She did the only thing she could do on such a day and the first thing she’d wanted to do as soon as she woke up.
“Hello?” He sounded as if he’d been watching his cell phone the whole time.
“Hey, hi. Nora here. Sorry to bother you.” She couldn’t come up with anything better.
“Are you okay?” he interrupted, concerned.
“Well, not really, but well, maybe I’ll leave here today . . . I don’t know, they stole my laptop.” She spoke jerkily, trying to sound almost cheery while there was a lump rolling around in her throat, as she tried to smile, hating the corners of her mouth as they kept slipping downwards.
“Nora, tell me, where are you?” His voice was firm and calm.
“I’m here by the hospital; I’m watching them pray on their rosaries for the unborn brothers and sisters.” She meant to sound sarcastic, just to change the subject.
“Wait there, please, one minute. Okay?”
“Fine,” she said softly and swallowed a mountain. Shouts reached her.
“And one more thing,” declared the leader, inspired by the Holy Spirit, feeling the traditional Christian anguish of persecution after the nurse closed the window. “I am particularly moved to see you gathered here, brothers and sisters, in this very city that during Yugoslavia was the main center for the deliberate termination of pregnancies. Parents from all parts of the country came here to abort their children. Many have said that the horrors of the war are a direct consequence of that sad reality.”
Visible on the faces of those gathered was approval for this terrible and logical notion, mixed with cloying horror.
“The Initiative for Life will bring the great light of hope to this people; every act of goodness is returned in kind.” Nora felt as if she were watching them from another planet. She hoped the curses of the devout hadn’t reach the second floor, blaming women for wars, for all the evils of the world, the plagues of locusts and everything the good Lord God would soon be raining down upon us. Again the strains rang out of the hollow melodies, destroying the very meaning of music and prayer, without a shred of understanding or talent for life, born or unborn. The white Corsa pulled over to the side of the road, and Marko opened the door and did what he could to catch Nora’s eye. She sat in the passenger seat, staring in front of her, terrified by what would happen once their eyes met. When she muffled the sounds by shutting the door, she dropped her head and her hair slid over her cheeks, hiding the blush that was climbing up her throat, impinging on her chin, ears, and cheekbones. Marko turned toward her, waiting for the curtains to rise. She rubbed her face and pushed aside her hair, and then she dropped her hands into her lap, staring at the red backs of her hands on her knees. He reached over to her chin and slowly turned her face to him. With his thumbs he smoothed away the traces of the black, salt-strewn streets under her eyes, erased all the pavement and potholes, brought back the woods. The moment she looked at him everything was flooded, the bridges and city, the devastated buildings and the bones deep underground; the interior of the car gradually filled with water, the houses were inundated, the red roof tiles floated up and away on the green surface of the river with those green eyes. When he released her after an entire eternity from his arms, the waters ebbed, leaving behind things, thousands and thousands
