camilla.

chapter 45.

Once Camilla eavesdropped on two women sitting behind her in the bus. In the middle of their gossip, one of them said, You know, shes one of these women who always pick men wh.o.r.e bad for them. Camilla has forgotten whatever else they were talking about, but that phrase stayed with her.

She met Dragan almost ten years ago, at a party given by Lena, whos in the choir. Camilla had turned up in the afternoon to help Lena and Simo, her husband, arrange the furniture, make the salads, and set out the food. By seven oclock, Camilla was eager to start getting ready for the party. She put on a freshly ironed, loose-fitting dark blue shirt and an ankle-length skirt in a shade of light brown that matched her hair clothes that flattered her figure. Lena had noticed that she was getting fl.u.s.tered and told her not to worry. Simos friends always came b.u.mbling along at any old time. Simo was an electrician from Yugoslavia but had moved to Denmark long before the civil war started in his homeland.

Lena was right. Most of the Yugoslavs turned up really late, and their behavior at the party was something of a shock to Camilla. The drinking was much heavier for a start, the dancing was wilder, and the music louder. And all of them seemed to feel that parties were not only for chatting about this and that but also an outlet for their emotions.

At one point during the evening, a dark-haired man with a square jaw stood outside on the balcony and shouted incomprehensibly at people in the street. In the apartment everybody laughed, as if the mans behavior were a normal part of their Sat.u.r.day-night fun. Some of his friends made him come back inside and sit on the sofa. Camilla started talking to him. His English was very good. He said that his name was Dragan and he had been a schoolteacher in Bosnia. He had come to Denmark a month ago and lived near Lyngby, in a refugee camp for Yugoslav asylum seekers. He looked to be in his late twenties, roughly the same age as she, but he didnt mention anything about a wife or children.

They got up to dance, but it went badly. The music was unlike anything Camilla had ever heard before, a surreal mixture of gypsy melody and punk rock. Dragan was dancing about wildly, with big leaps and flailing arms, but even in all the noise and under the low lights, Camilla couldnt let herself go.

Later that night she went to the kitchen to rest her legs. Two friends from the choir were there too. While they were talking, a spat broke out in another room. There was a terrific crash.

They hurried to find out what was going on. A group of angry Yugoslavs had gathered around Dragan. Someone explained that Dragan had gotten into an argument with a buddy who had locked himself in the bathroom. After some shouting at each other through the door, Dragan had kicked it down. Some of the guests seemed very frightened.

Dragan himself was still very agitated about whatever the man in the bathroom had said and wouldnt stop yelling. Something made Camilla walk toward him. She heard Lena saying to her husband that she was going to throw Dragan out. Simo replied that he didnt want her to.

When Camilla stopped in front of Dragan, he took her in his arms. They stood together for a while. Quite still. He stopped shouting. Then they went off to dance.

A few minutes later Lena came up to them. She said she wanted to thank Camilla for calming Dragan down. She asked if he had ruined the evening for Camilla and if she would like Lena to ask him to leave. Camilla told her no.

They kept on dancing and talking. Later on they made love on his large black coat, spread on the ground in the shrubbery behind a large upmarket block of apartments in Frederiksberg. He walked her home afterward and seemed so different from the way he had acted at the party. He recited long Serbian love poems, which he knew by heart, and spoke about the ideas and characters in books written by Russian authors a hundred years ago.

The next few weeks were special. Camilla had suddenly become a member of a circle of Yugoslavs that included both recent refugees and older immigrants who had come to live in Denmark before the war. She went to dozens of their wild parties, as well as to little get-togethers in asylum camp rooms and down-at-heel apartments with a decidedly Balkan decor. Since the refugees had plenty of spare time, there was a gathering almost every evening.

An apartment belonging to Goran, a stage technician at the Betty Nansen Theater, was a favorite meeting place. Evening after evening Gorans hallway was full of his guests black jackets, frequently smelling damp because even when it rained his friends would walk everywhere to save money.

They got along well together, the Serbs and Muslims and Croats. Back in the old country, their brothers, fathers, colleagues, and schoolmates were busy killing one another, but here they worked hard to form a community that would help them live with some dignity in what they hoped would be their new homeland.

Apart from Camilla and three Yugoslav women, everyone in the group was male young men with strong features and, sometimes, muscular bodies shaped by military training. They hung around Gorans, ate hearty soups in his living room, and teased one another. When they watched television, they would become very serious and discuss everything under the sun. And when they thought of something to celebrate, they would pour out shots of slivovitz, a plum brandy that Dragan explained was mostly a drink for old people in Yugoslavia.

Camilla noticed that the others had respect for Dragan. They regarded him as wise and well read. Only when he had too much to drink would his personality change. He would pick fights with the others, shouting abuse and calling them names. Once he threw a television set through the window because of something that was said on the news.

All the same, everyone seemed genuinely fond of him. This was something Camilla realized was part of their culture: you stood by your friends no matter what. You gave each other s.p.a.ce to be wrong and explode, unlike the Danes, who would have run the other way. Such resolute loyalty was something Camilla would come back to again and again when she told her friend Anja about her new boyfriend and his world. Camilla heard of only one person who could never be forgiven. That man was Mirko Zigic. In those days she didnt have a clue why Zigic was such a reviled figure. The others never said more than Zigic enjoys the war, while everyone else suffers. Dragan said hed kill Zigic if they ever met again.

Dragan moved into Camillas little apartment just two weeks after the party at Lena and Simos. Every morning she woke feeling happy and somehow cleansed. s.e.x with him was wonderful and washed away her past, because he came to her with the same pa.s.sion that seemed to drive his rage.

He usually stayed in bed while she flew through her morning routines. Often maybe a little too often she arrived late at the City Post Office, where she was working as a junior secretary.

One day a friend told her that during his escape from Bosnia, Dragan had lived for a while in a dumpster. He had put a mattress in it and slept there at night, after bolting the lid from the inside so that no one could rob or kill him. Someone else told her what had happened when Dragan had taken a train from Banja Luka. A group of Serb militiamen had stopped the train and ordered the male Muslims to get out and pile into large, locked vans. They also took the young male Serbs, forced them to join the militia after a short period of military training, and informed them that any deserters would be shot. Thats why Dragan had been a member of the uniformed militia.

She made attempts to unravel Dragans past, but every time she tried to ask him about it, he became annoyed and told her to mind her own business. Yet she felt that, as his girlfriend, she had a right to know.

One evening over supper she decided to push again for answers. He started to shout at her and throw things about. Although he didnt hit her, she knew he would have if he hadnt checked himself and rushed out the door into the street. By ten oclock he still wasnt back. Worried, Camilla called Goran to find out if Dragan was there. Gorans girlfriend, Natasa, said he wasnt. She could hear how upset Camilla was and urged her to tell her the whole story. Natasa rea.s.sured her. She had lived and worked in Denmark for ten years and knew both cultures well.

Camilla, I want you to know that Dragan cares for you very much. It means a lot to him that you appreciate what a warm and wise man he is.

Oh, I do.

But, you see, if your relationship is to last, you must also respect him as a man.

I do, honestly.

Its hard for him to believe that you do. There he is, living in your apartment without paying anything himself. Just two years ago he was a schoolteacher with good prospects. He had done well for himself in a country that in many ways was rather like Denmark. He wants you to see him as the kind of man who can quote by heart from Dostoyevsky and Borges and Kundera. It was humiliating to have to live in a dumpster. It was humiliating to be unable to stand up against men who marched him off a train and into an army truck. And it is humiliating to live off handouts from the Danish state and not be in your own country, defending yourself and your family.

Camilla understood all that perfectly well, but she still couldnt grasp why he was being so secretive.

Later, Natasa came back to this issue: Perhaps it has something to do with defending your family or not.

What do you mean? Camilla knew instantly that she was about to hear something shed rather not know.

Camilla, there isnt one of our friends who hasnt experienced something truly horrific. We dont talk about it, but we all know.

Yes?

Natasa took a deep breath. I havent spoken about this with Dragan, but everyone in our little group seems to know about it. At one time or another they heard, in confidence from someone else, that Bosnian Muslims raped and then killed Dragans three sisters.

A silence followed. Camilla couldnt think of what to say. Someone knows that for sure?

Yes. You must remember that everything in Dragans life would have been different, if only he had been free to decide. Everything!

When Camilla came home from work the next day, a delicious smell of cooking met her on the landing. Dragan had taken possession of her kitchen after borrowing money from a few friends to buy the ingredients for a ca.s.serole and a good bottle of wine.

Neither of them referred to the night before. During the meal, Dragan recited verses in Serbian for her. He explained that they were from a poem written in the 1950s, or maybe the 1960s, by an exiled Serb poet. He had left Yugoslavia because of its Communist government and gone to live in London. The poem was very long, and was ent.i.tled Lament for Belgrade. In it, the poet described his travels to the most beautiful capitals of the world. Regardless of whether he was in Paris or Rome or Lisbon, the foreign cities only reminded him of death and emptiness. He longed to leave those places and return to the Belgrade of his youth, the city between the rivers, full of light and a steely will to fight for self-preservation.

Dragan quoted from the English translation of this tribute to Belgrade: Your blood, like dew, has fallen on the plains again, To cool the breath of all those whose quietus nears.

In bed that night, they impatiently made up for the twenty-four hours that they had been apart. Afterward, Dragan lay with his hands behind his head and spoke to her quietly. Ive escaped. Thats the most important thing. I risked my life to leave. Whats done is done. I must learn to put the past behind me. From now on Ill live properly, like you do. Youre so good.

She moved closer to him and kissed his cheek, but he didnt turn his face toward her. In the dark she watched the reflection of a streetlight, like a glowing dot, in his pupil. He was lying absolutely still, staring at the ceiling. She kissed him gently once more.

The last time Camilla had spoken on the phone to her parents, her father handed the receiver to her mother much too quickly: a bad sign. Whenever there was a need for white lies, her father usually let his wife handle it. They all knew she was better at pretending than he was.

Camilla had already drawn the conclusion that they wouldnt like Dragan. Never mind that they had never met him: her parents had disapproved of all her boyfriends. Each time she had taken their dislike to heart. She simply could not escape from wanting to please them.

After she and Dragan had been living together for almost two months, she felt he must meet her parents. They invited Camilla and Dragan for Sunday lunch. Her parents apartment was in Vanlse and Camilla still hated the place. For the rest of her life she would always drive long, roundabout routes just to avoid having to pa.s.s within sight of her old school. Their home was crammed with every sort of bric-a-brac, which, in a strange way, made it appear vaguely reminiscent of the old Yugoslav immigrants apartments.

Her parents welcomed them, smiling. Both Camillas father and mother did not speak English well, but they tried hard, since Dragans Danish was even worse. It went well enough. They showed Dragan into the living room first and then led the way to the lunch table. The meal started with toasts of aquavit and explanations about Danish schnapps and its different flavorings.

Camilla knew she had been right all along. Everything was so obviously orchestrated, so perfectly smooth, that there was no way of knowing what they were truly thinking.

During the meal they exchanged the names of various foods in English and Danish and Serbian. Camillas parents seemed to be endlessly surprised by how different the words were for the same thing and kept bringing up other dishes to talk about.

She watched them. They avoided eye contact with each other and took care never to leave the room at the same time: they knew she would think that they were criticizing Dragan behind her back.

Previously she had told them about the way Yugoslav homes were full of handiwork, so her mother had covered the table with a white lace tablecloth, a family heirloom made by her great-aunt. Dragan praised the fine lace and told them about the different lace-making techniques that had gone into the tablecloth.

Camillas mother remarked that cousin Susanne was also going out with a foreigner. Dragan at once referred to a song by Leonard Cohen about a Suzanne, who takes you down to her place near the river. In Cohens music and lyrics, Dragan had discovered the dark depths he loved in art. He quoted from that song and then from other songs, a.n.a.lyzing the music and the tempos and how they related to the words. Camilla smiled at him to show her support. He was trying so hard to demonstrate to his prospective in-laws what a cultured man he was. In Denmark, his education was his one claim to respectability, but Camilla knew only too well that everything he said went right over her parents heads. Still, they were trying to make this work, laughing, asking questions.

When Camilla leaned forward and reached across the table for the spiced herring, her mother froze. Something had caught her eye. Camilla knew what it was.

Her mothers chair shot backward and fell over as she jumped up and ran out of the dining room. Camilla hurried after her, pulling at her blouse to cover the oblong blue bruise that crept up to her collarbone.

Standing in the kitchen, Camillas mother, who also was a little too plump, was short of breath. Camilla stopped a few feet away from her. She wanted to say, Why do you have to be like this, every time? or Why do you always think the worst of every single man in my life? But she couldnt make herself.

Camillas mother was in tears. Please, forgive me. Im sorry, I shouldnt have run out like that.

Dont worry, it doesnt matter, Camilla murmured involuntarily.

Her mother hugged her. Oh, Camilla, thank you. We really try, you know. We mean so well but you have no idea how hard it was for Dad and me when you were with Morten.

But you didnt know what he was like at the time. Camilla backed out of the hug.

Her mother let go. We did notice, you know. We realized what was going on. And we were so worried that someone would start abusing you again.

Camilla was furious with her mother and she too was crying. Two months earlier, Camilla would never have dared say anything back. But Dragan had given her the confidence to speak out. You dont like him. You dont want me to be happy!

Of course we do! We only want whats best for you!

Camillas knees gave way and she sat down on the small kitchen bench with its hard red cushions. It was where she had sat with her gla.s.s of juice and marmalade sandwiches every day after school, trying to pull herself together after yet another day of torment.

Her mother watched Camilla as she sat in silence. We are pleased that you care about Dragan. Im sure hes good to you. I didnt mean Its very bad of me.

Yes.

Again her mother tried to reach out to Camilla. Its just that well, there have been times when we talked on the phone and when you came to see us here over the last few months and you didnt seem Are you happy?

Camilla met her mothers eyes. Yes, Mom. I am.

Does he make you happy?

Yes, he does.

And you really care about him?

Yes. I really do!.

chapter 46.

that evening Dragan went off on his own to see some of his friends. After he had left, Camilla phoned her friend Anja to say that shed like to drop by. Anja was a nurse. She and Camilla had once lived in the same building, but later Anja had moved to a bungalow with her husband.

Seated in Anja and Finns bright, tidy living room, Camilla told Anja about the awful lunch at her parents place. She wanted Anja to understand how unbearable her mother was. Anja agreed, but the expression on her face seemed less sure.

Whats the matter?

How do you mean?

Whats on your mind?

Im just thinking about what your mother is like.

No, theres something else.

No, thats all.

It seemed that everybody could spot something in her relationship with Dragan that Camilla couldnt see.

Anja, youre my best friend. If anything were bothering you about Dragan and me, youd tell me, wouldnt you?

I just think its great that youve met a nice guy. And that youre crazy about him and hes crazy about you.

It didnt matter. Camilla knew that if she hadnt approved of Finn, shed never have let on to Anja. While they chatted, Camilla wondered if she had made a big mistake thinking that Dragan was the right man for her. She felt that he had helped her to become braver. Why couldnt other people see this? Or could it be, she thought, that this is exactly what they dont like? Maybe the people around me would prefer me to remain withdrawn and insecure?

Finn came to join them, dressed in torn jeans and a purple sweatshirt. He was a slightly built man, already balding. They smiled at each other. Finn was always kind to Anjas friends. He sat down on the sofa next to Anja with one foot curled up under him.

Camilla watched them. He was the sort of man her mother would like to see her marry. Anja and Finn were so close that they seemed like two sides of the same person. Talking to them, Camilla wondered if they had a good s.e.x life. They could have had Sunday lunch with her parents week in and week out.

Anja was telling her about the camper van they were saving up for, and Camilla kept thinking, Would I be happy with a man like Finn? My life might well be easier. Still, the s.e.x would never be as great. You could never be sure, of course.

When Gorans friends got together to watch videos in his apartment, he always disconnected the aerial from the television. No one wanted to risk catching a glimpse of the news, not even during the brief moment before the video began. The news programs were full of reports from Yugoslavia, and they upset everyone far too much. They would rage against the journalists lies and become aggressive, Dragan in particular.

Dragan watched a lot of television at home and showed more sympathy for the Serbs and their cause than he did when he was with his Muslim friends. Sitting in front of Camillas set, he watched the news on TV1 and TV2, as well as the news and current affairs programs on the BBC and CNN. He listened to the radio too, even though it often made his blood boil. Hed run around the apartment roaring, hitting out, or kicking things.

At times his arguments were very convincing. Camilla believed that he had knowledge and experience well beyond what the journalists could draw on.

Journalists know nothing about history! Idiots! They think this is a new war! But weve been at war for five hundred f.u.c.king years! Theyve got no perspective!

Camilla learned that she wasnt meant to answer when he was in this mood. She stayed in the bedroom or went out. If she hid in the bathroom, he would stand outside the door and carry on shouting.

In your history books about the Second World War, do they write about the Croats forcing us into our churches and setting them on fire? Do they? Why not talk about that on TV? Do we burn them alive? Camilla? Camilla, answer me! Do we burn them alive? No! Were moving them to protect ourselves! Were allowed to try to survive, arent we?

Camilla stayed very still, hoping that he wouldnt break the door down.

He would turn the volume up so the television reports could be heard all over the small apartment.