Aleksandar Hemon: Love and Obstacles

But it was only when they sat down to eat that I recognized Declan’s mother and father as my parents. The old man asks incessant questions about Iraq and war, keeps pouring bourbon into Tiny’s glass over Mother’s objections. Mother keeps bringing in the same food—meat and potatoes and, instead of spinach and potato, apple and rhubarb pies. She insists that Tiny drink water, for she can see that he is too drunk already. Father segregates his food on the plate. There is absolutely no doubt—everything bespeaks my parents, the way they talked, the way they ate, the way Declan’s mother grabs Tiny’s hand and kisses it, pressing her lips into the ghost of Declan’s hand. Tiny is suddenly ravenous, and he eats and eats. He slips into telling them about the unfortunate instance of miscommunication with local civilians, but leaves Declan out of it. He blames himself, tells them the gory details of the rape— Lamia’s throaty moan, the flapping of her skinny arms, the blood pouring out of her —and the old man listens to him unflinchingly, while Mother goes to the kitchen to fetch coffee. They don’t seem to be troubled, as though they did not hear him at all. For an instant, he thinks that he might not be speaking, that it is all in his head, but then realizes that there is nothing inside them, nothing except grief. Other people’s children are of no concern to them, for there was no horror in the world outside Declan’s eternal absence from it. Mother cuts a piece of each pie, the crusts breaking, and puts the slices on a clean plate. Tiny is sobbing.

“Let me ask you a question,” the old man said. “You must tell me the truth.”

Tiny nodded.

“My son was a soldier. You’re a soldier.”

Tiny knew exactly what was coming. Let it come, he was now ready.

“Tell me, was he a good man, a good soldier?” The old man lurched forward and touched Tiny’s shoulder. His hand was cold. Outside, snow was slowly falling. Each flake came down patiently, abseiling down an obscure silky rope.

“It takes a while to become a good soldier,” Tiny said. “Declan was good. He was a good man.”