It was a long night and long drive with a long way yet to go. Late. I had pulled off of the interstate into a college town to get some coffee, hoping to find a lively place that would give me something to think about for the next few hours drive. I found one. Bright lights, people hanging out by the door. A nice place to stop, grab a cup, and sit someplace other than the inside of a car for a while.
I could hear music playing as I approached and pushed open the doors. Garlands of smoke hung in the air and the perfume of the house brew mixed with the acrid tobacco, stinging my nostrils, wakening me some before I even had my first sip. But it was the wakefulness of a dream. The clouds of muffled conversation that filled the room made my mind mute and silent. This would be fine. I could drink a few cups and then get on. I looked around for somewhere to sit and realized how popular this place was. No room. Not much at least. I saw an empty chair at a table in a back corner. There was a man in the chair that shared the table. He looked like the quiet type. Someone who would leave me alone and tolerate my presence while I drank my cup. I walked over, raised my eyebrows in query to the open chair, he loosely swung his hand to indicate that it was open and he didn't mind.
He was sitting with the chair reversed, leaning against the wall. He used the chair back as a prop to dangle his long arms over. He shrugged when I sat down and took another drag from his cigarette. This was good, he seemed like he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts as much as I did. He finished his cigarette, lit another off of the butt and began to speak. He didn't really seem to be talking to me. Maybe he was thinking out loud and I happened to be there. He had an accent that I couldn't place.
"I wonder what they are talking about now. Back in the old country. Hmph 'The Old Country'. Who would have thought I would be using such a phrase? When we were in the university, Giorges would joke to me, 'Jossef,' he would say, 'some day you will have a long white beard and you will no longer live in your homeland. You will bore people then with your tales of "The Old Country." Just like old Pitre turns us to stone with his tales of "Before the Communists came to This Great Land...." Do not be piggish with that wine and hand the bottle to me. Marta, my beauty, sing us a song.'
"Oh, how we would sing and drink. Giorges would bring his bayan and play songs that we could dance to. He would sit by the fire and call out the songs in his fashion. His dark eyebrows dancing on his forehead while he played as if they were great caterpillars. And his teeth, large as a mules, would flash in the firelight as he sang. Oh, how we laughed and had such good times.
"Marta was so beautiful. I remember the time that she and I took a holiday and rode the morning train into the countryside. It was the end of summer leading into an early winter. The trees were already at their turning. We borrowed bicycles and rode out of the village. The warm air, blushing with the autumn fragrances, flowed over our faces as we rode, filling us with a sense of eternity. We were so free. We were young and in the University. The State took care of all our needs. We glided down among the hills, we could have been flying. It was that day that I held her hand as we walked. We had rested the bicycles against a tree and walked down to a stream for some water. That day, so clear in my mind. I can still smell the fresh hay, that some farmer had cut earlier that day carried on the breeze. Even the sunshine that lit her face had a special quality. Marta, so ever herself. We had gone exploring and were clambering up a steep bank. I had gone first and had turned around and reached my hand out to help her. She looked up at me and smiled. She reached up her hand and grabbed hold of the trunk of a small tree with which she pulled herself up. She was complete on her own, but she appreciated the consideration.
"I was in love with her, you know. For me she was the only star in the heavens. My first and last thoughts every day were of her. But I never told her. She said she was a 'free and independent woman' and she did not want to be with any one man. So she had none. I think we were all in love with her. Who could not be. She had the prettiest teeth. She would smile and look at you and you would feel that every secret that you had in your heart was known and accepted. When she sang, her voice stirred you to your very soul. You were removed from this earth and transported to a place so far from here. So full of beauty. If you heard her sing, you would know.
"She would have no man, we all understood and accepted this. I think this is what kept us together. We could enjoy our friendships and camaraderie without competing. You could say because she had none of us, she had all of us. Pavle, Vasilije, Marko, Kosta... oh my friends, where are you now, and what do you talk of? Do you ever think of your old friend Jossef? Do you, too, still carry this love for Marta in your heart?
"It all changed when the wall fell. The Soviet Union collapsed. The regional governing body crumbled and the university was shut down. War began all around us. Giorges was killed in the first weeks. He had not found caution yet and was walking down the street with his bayan and a smile for the sunshine on his face when they shot him. We don't know which side killed him, one or the other it was unjust he was no one's enemy and everyones friend. Perhaps he was an enemy of both sides because all he wanted was to play music, drink wine and sing songs. This I cannot say. But it changed our world.
"Vasilije and Marko soon left to go up north to see if they could find their families. The rest of us decided to stay and see if we could become involved and help our homeland. Perhaps we, too, should have fled.
It was in March of the following year that I heard about Marta. Some soldiers from somewhere had run across her hiding place. Her broken body was found, tossed into a ditch, crumpled and cast off like a old doll. My world ended at that moment.
"It was then that I decided that I must leave my homeland for it was mine no more. Any who can kill another because of what they believe in or who their grandfathers might have been can never be comrades of mine. I cannot share their country with them for it is one in which I have never lived. I made my way through the mountains and to the sea. I was nearly captured several times and lost much weight. I found a way across the oceans and now I am here. In this, your country, America.
"And I wonder of my decision. Am I better off now, alive, drinking coffee at nights? Should I have left my homeland? Are there people there who still dance? Do people sing and drink and laugh like the old days? Are any of my friends still alive? Do they gather around the fire on a Saturday night and sing and laugh and talk? And if they do, I wonder what they are talking about now?"
...
He went silent at that point, lighting another cigarette from the butt of his last. I finished my coffee, nodded and headed into the night. Toward a place that I called home. Maybe tonight I would dance. For old time's sake.
