The Heaven Trilogy (88 page)
He could only guess what the beast had done to her. But he could hardly bear to guess and so mostly he didn’t. New wounds on his chest had soaked the carpet at his feet with blood before finally coagulating. Glenn had kicked him twice; he remembered that. But the aches and bruises were all over. They had beat him after he’d passed out.
They came for him at night—two thugs and Glenn. The monster was wearing a grin and he looked freshly showered. If Jan had been in working order he might have thrown himself at the man and choked him.
“Dump him in his backyard,” Glenn said with satisfaction. “And tell him the next time he messes with my woman, he won’t be so lucky.” He chuckled and the men hoisted Jan to his feet. His world faded with the pain.
When he awoke he was in his backyard by the pool, staring at the stars.
“If you were to put all of the world’s pain in one fifty-five-gallon drum, it would look silly next to the mountains of gold and silver found in each moment with God. Our problem is that we rarely see past the drum.”
The Dance of the Dead, 1959
SUNDAY PULLED Jan along a hazy road of reawakening with fits and starts.
Evidently he’d pulled himself into the house and passed out on the carpet by the couch. It was light out when an incessant ringing had awakened him again. He remembered thinking that he must get to that phone; he needed help. He hauled himself to his feet and answered. It was Ivena. The sound of her voice brought tears to his eyes. Ivena had been trying to reach him for two days now, and what in the world did he think he was doing not answering his phone? “I don’t care if you have woman problems or not, you don’t ignore me! I nearly called Roald looking for you.”
“I was beaten, Ivena,” he’d said. And she was at his door five minutes later.
She took one look at him, appalled, all that dried blood from head to foot, and she was immediately the war mother. No time to bemoan the injustice of it all; this one needed attending. He actually thought he was feeling much better and insisted that he could shower and eat and everything would be fine. But she would have none of it. They were going to the hospital and that was final.
In the end, he acquiesced. He hobbled out to the Cadillac, his arm over Ivena’s shoulder, and she drove him to St. Joseph’s Hospital. Everything started going blurry again when they turned the first corner.
When he awoke again, an IV tube snaked out of his arm, chilling it to the shoulder. A doctor hovered over him and pulled at his chest with strings. They were stitching up some cuts there. This time consciousness came and stayed; the IV’s hydrating solution was primarily responsible, the doctor told him. He was as dry as a cracked riverbed. Another day and he would’ve been dead. And how did all this happen anyway?
Jan told him and an hour later there was a cop standing by the hospital bed, asking questions and taking notes. Ivena heard it all then for the first time as well, sitting in the corner, his concerned mother. They asked her to leave once but she wouldn’t, and Jan insisted that she stay. The policeman seemed to hurry the interview along just a bit when he learned that this was all supposedly done at the hands of Glenn Lutz.
The
Glenn Lutz? he’d asked. Jan presumed so, although he’d never met
the
Glenn Lutz before. The description certainly fit. The cop left soon after, assuring Jan that the proper authorities would pursue the matter.
All told, Jan had a mild concussion, two deep cuts—one above his right ear and one on his chest—two broken ribs, a half dozen smaller cuts and bruises, and a severe case of dehydration. By early afternoon they had him fully rehydrated, sewn up, and adequately medicated to get about. He asked to be released and the doctor agreed only after Ivena assured him in the strongest terms that she would care for him. She had cared for worse. Anyway, his concussion was already three days old, his cuts had been bandaged and his veins flooded; what else could they do but observe? She could observe.
Once home, it took Ivena an hour to arrange him on the couch and satisfy herself that he was settled. She would make supper, she announced. It didn’t matter that it was only four o’clock, he needed some real food in his system, not some hospital Jell-O. So they ate a meaty cabbage soup with fresh bread and they talked about what had happened.
“I know what you told the police, Janjic, but what else happened?” Ivena asked.
He remained quiet for a few moments, looking out the window now. Yes indeed, what did really happen? And where was Helen now?
“This is beyond me, Ivena.”
“Of course it is.”
“I told Karen.”
“Hmm.”
“She wasn’t happy.”
“You broke your engagement?”
“No.”
They sat quietly for a moment.
“I had another vision.”
“Yes?”
He watched the swaying willow beyond the pool. “I was tied there waiting for Helen to strike me. He forced her to hit me, you know. I didn’t tell the policeman that, but he did. He made her spit on me . . .” A lump rose to Jan’s throat and he swallowed. “She didn’t want to, I know she didn’t want to. And when she swung, I went into a vision.”
They had stopped eating for the moment. “Tell me,” Ivena said. “Tell me the vision.”
Jan told her what he remembered, every detail. And as he told her, the emotions of it came back. Heaven was weeping for Helen. He too was there for Helen, weeping at her feet. It was so vivid! So very vivid, paling the beating in comparison. By the end, Ivena had set her bowl aside and was wiping tears from her eyes.
“Describe the flowers on the field again.”
He did. “And there’s something else, Ivena. It’s the same field that I’ve seen in my dreams for twenty years now. I saw that.”
“You’re sure? The same field?”
“Yes, without question. Not the dungeon, just the very end of the dream. The white field.”
“Hmm. My goodness. And where is Helen now, Janjic?”
“She’s with him.” He sat up and pushed the pillows aside, wincing. “Dear God, she’s with him and I can’t stand it! We should go up there and throw the man out!”
“You’re in no shape to play soldier. Besides, you’ve told the police everything. This is America, not Bosnia. They don’t tolerate kidnapping and beating so easily here. They’ll arrest the man.”
“Maybe, but I did go there on my own. He made a point of mentioning that. Said I was trespassing.” Jan stood and paced to the window. “I’m telling you, Ivena, there’s more here; I can feel it.”
“And I agree, my dear. But this battle is not yours to pursue. It’s one to receive.”
“Meaning exactly what? Just let things happen? It wouldn’t surprise me if she were dead already.”
“You mustn’t speak like that! Don’t speak that way!”
“And yet you’re suggesting that we just sit by and allow the police to deal with Glenn? When they do launch their investigation, you think a powerful man like this will have nothing to say in his defense? I’m telling you he will say it was me who went to threaten him. At the very least it will be days, weeks before anything is done.”
She scrunched her brow. “I’m not saying we should do nothing. Simply that the police will do something, and we should wait until we see what they do. And I’m saying that you’re in no condition to run around.”
She took up her bowl and dipped into it again, but her soup must have been cold because she set it down. “Then again, I may be wrong. I could easily be wrong. I wouldn’t have suggested that Nadia do what she did, and yet it was the right thing. It was beyond her.”
“It
was
the right thing. And if this madman were to kill Helen, I think I would kill him.”
Ivena sat in her armchair, glassy-eyed. Neither of them was seeing things too clearly, Jan thought. Yes, he had seen the vision clearly enough, but it gave him no clues how to save Helen. And that was the one thing they both did see: Helen
did
need saving. Not just from the monster, but from her own prison.
“I wanted to, you know,” Ivena said.
“You wanted to what?”
“I wanted to kill Karadzic.” A tear left its wet trail down her cheek. “I tried, I think.”
“And so did I.”
“But Nadia didn’t. She didn’t even
want
to kill him. And neither did the priest. They chose to die instead.”
Jan turned back to the fading light. What could he say to that? His head was hurting. “Yes, they did.” He returned to the couch, suddenly exhausted.
Ivena stood and took their dishes to the kitchen and just like that the conversation was over. They did not return to the subject until late that night. “So I guess we just sit tight and see what the police do for now?” Jan asked after Ivena had announced her intentions to retire.
“Yes, I guess so.”
“And we’ll deal with the ministry tomorrow. The employees will be concerned about my absence.”
“Fine.”
And that was that. She made sure that he was in good shape, fed him a painkiller, and left him to sleep.
JAN DIDN’T sleep quickly. He’d spent half the day in sleep and it didn’t return so easily now. Instead he began to think about what the others would say to this. Or at least what they would say to what
he
would tell them about this, because he wasn’t sure he could tell Roald and Karen all the details.
In fact, he wasn’t sure he would be telling Karen
anything
soon. He didn’t even know if she was still working for him. Did she know what had happened to him? He hadn’t shown up for work Friday, but that was not unheard of. And the dinner! He’d missed the dinner in New York!
Suddenly Jan was wide awake. He tried to put the concerns out of his mind. Tomorrow was Monday; he would find out then. But the thoughts chased about his mind like a rat on a running wheel. Karen’s face—her sweet smiling face—and then her angry slap. Perhaps he’d been a fool to tell her about Helen. He could hardly even imagine what would become of his relationship with Helen. They would . . .
He didn’t know what they would do. If indeed she came out of this in one piece. And yet he had sacrificed his relationship with Karen already. Hadn’t he?
Jan finally threw the sheets from his legs in a fit of frustration and walked for the phone.
He called Roald. The man’s gruff voice filled the phone on the tenth ring. “Hello.”
“Roald, this is Jan.”
“Jan. What time is it?”
“It’s late, I know. I’m sorry—”
“Everything okay?”
So. The man had not heard. “Yes. Have you talked to Karen?”
“Not since our conference call. Why? Weren’t you with her in New York yesterday?” “No, we had a problem with that. Listen I have something I need to talk to you about. Can you come by my house tomorrow?”
“Your
house?
I suppose I could. What’s up?”
“It’s nothing, really. Just something I’d like your input on.”
They agreed to meet at ten.
It took Jan another hour to shake the mental mice and drift into sleep.
THE MORNING came quickly, to the sound of Ivena’s singing in the kitchen— “Jesus, Lover of My Soul.” She was in there cooking something that flooded the house with a delicious smell. “Let me to Thy bosom fly,” her voice warbled.
Jan lifted himself to his elbows and fell back with the aches of stiff sleep. By the time he’d loosened enough to walk out to the kitchen, she was already setting the table. She saw him, still dressed in his pajamas, and she chuckled. “Oh my, my, look at yourself.”
He glanced at his reflection in the chrome oven-hood and saw that she referred to his hair; it stood straight up past the white bandages. He flattened it. “I am a sick man, Ivena. Don’t cross me.”
“Not sick enough to stay in bed, I see.”
“And did you expect less?” he asked, motioning to the two place settings.
“No. I have had a wonderful sleep, Janjic.”
He hobbled for the chair. “That’s more than I can say. I feel like a steamroller ran over me.” He then told Ivena about his call to Roald. “They don’t know. Karen doesn’t know. I don’t know if she’s even on board any longer.”
“No?”
“How can she work for me? This isn’t good.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“She’s the backbone of the ministry.”
“No, the testimony’s the backbone, Janjic.
The Dance of the Dead
. The martyr’s song. The testimony you’ve been waving about like a flag for five years;
that
is the backbone of the ministry.”
“Yes, and it’s been Karen who’s done most of the waving. I’m nothing but the flagpole. Without her . . . I can’t imagine what it would be.”
She chuckled. “So then choose your women carefully, Janjic. They all want my handsome Serb. So many women . . .”
“Stop your nonsense. It’s more serious than you think,” he said, and ordinarily he would have grinned, but his heart was sick. “Do you know that I missed a dinner engagement in New York on Saturday night?”
She cast him a side glance. “Am I hearing some anger in this voice of yours, Janjic?”
He sipped at the steaming coffee. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing with Karen. I feel like I’ve cut off one leg to save the other and now I may lose both.”
“Don’t worry, you will find your way. And I’m sure that missing one meal with Karen won’t have any bearing on the path you end up taking.”
“The dinner was with the movie people.”
“Yes, and I’m not sure about this movie business anyway.”
“Well, it’s too late. It’s finished.”
“What is finished? Your life is finished, so now they will make a movie of it? I don’t think so. We will see what happens to your movie deal, Janjic.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Still, we will see.” She said it smiling. “Roald will be here soon enough. It’s already nine-thirty.”
Nine-thirty! He hadn’t realized it was so late. Jan excused himself and hurried off to dress.
Roald arrived fifteen minutes later while Jan was still in his room, struggling to get his socks on without ripping his stitches. “Where is he?” the elder statesman’s voice boomed.
“Take a breath, my friend. May I get you something to drink?” Ivena returned.
