The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Those eight hours in the trauma ward had been awful. Even the doctors had noticed that Mary had not been herself. She had been tired, and her eyes had looked foggy. They had to tell her twice to bring this or that medicine or such and such instruments. They had thought perhaps she did not feel well so they had told her to rest and pull herself together.
“I thought that making love would take your mind off of whatever was bothering you, Dear,” said Charlie, caressing Mary.
“I’m not upset,” she reassured him. “I’m just a little tired.”
“No, you haven’t gotten over that ruffian, Kreshnik, yet,” he said, penetrating her with his gaze.
He seemed to be the Charlie of the vision that had plagued Mary before she had met Kreshnik at his house. A chill ran through her.
“You can’t stop thinking about him,” Charlie continued. “He created this situation. Indeed, you are sensitive.”
“If Charlie only knew that I haven’t been away from him for more than a few hours.” This thought weighed heavily on Mary.
“Why do you keep thinking about him,” Charlie asked, screwing up his mouth.
“He’s nothing to me!”
“That may be. But irritating people leave long-lasting impressions. Guys like him are sexual maniacs. Don’t you remember how he looked at you with those flaming eyes?”
“Not at all,” Mary replied.
She had not doubted that Kreshnik looked like a frightened lover, but she had never imagined he would look at her the way Charlie described. Even when they had danced together two months earlier in the park in Del Mar Beach, Kreshnik had not looked at Mary that way. As she had told Wilma, she had been the one who had felt a wave of contentment when she had danced with Kreshnik, and their bodies had touched.
Perhaps Mary did not become aware of Kreshnik’s desire until, sitting next to him on the bench, she had treated his wound. At that point, she had noticed him looking at her face, breasts, and thighs, partially exposed by her short skirt.
“I’m surprised you weren’t struck by the way he looked at you. Anyway, I hope to read one day in the paper that they threw that no-account in jail,” said Charlie, and kissed Mary gently on the lips.
Mary had decided not to see Kreshnik anymore. But to her astonishment, an inner voice whispered that that would be difficult.
Kreshnik drove the motorcycle through the other street which Max had pointed out. Every now and then, he looked at his watch. It was 12:15. In the distance, he saw the lights from a solitary house. A woman walked down the street, her hands on the shoulders of a child with a bandage on his head. As Kreshnik approached, the woman extended her hand. He slowed down and stopped in front of her. She seemed to be in shock.
“A little while ago, my little boy fell while climbing the stairs and hit his head,” said the woman in a pleading voice. “He lost a lot of blood. As you can see, I bandaged him as best I could. But the pain makes him cry, and he can’t sleep. Could you take him to the clinic?”
“Just what I needed,” said Kreshnik to himself. But then, he got down from the motorcycle and together with the woman, helped the little boy into the back seat.
“Thank you so much, Sir,” said the mother. “I’m ashamed to tell you this, but my husband drank so much he can’t stand on his own two feet. What’s more, our car isn’t working.”
“Where’s the clinic?” asked Kreshnik, hurriedly.
“Not too far from here. Forgive me, but the ambulance never came even though I called and …”
“Please, where’s the clinic?”
“Go straight, and you’ll see a sign for it. You’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
Kreshnik got back on the motorcycle.
“Hold on to my waist,” he said gently to the boy, and he did.
Kreshnik could not hear the woman’s words of gratitude as he revved up the motorcycle. It took about fifteen minutes to get to the clinic. A tired-looking doctor with a dumpy face treated the child’s wound and bandaged it carefully. The clock on the wall said 12:45. Kreshnik realized this unexpected turn of events had cost him time. He informed the doctor he was leaving and requested that an ambulance take the child home. However, when he realized Kreshnik was not the child’s father, the doctor asked him to stay a little longer while he called the child’s parents, actually the mother, since the father was drunk, to find out the cause of the accident, even though the boy had explained everything. Although he did his job, the capricious doctor made Kreshnik nervous, and he began to pace the room. Then his phone rang. It couldn’t be anyone but Max. He left the room in order not to disturb the doctor who was on the phone with the boy’s mother.
“Where are you now, Nik?” asked Max.
Max’s face darkened as Kreshnik explained what had happened.
“It’s not up to you to help a child when time is of the essence!” he threatened. “Do you realize it’s almost 1:00 a.m.? You have a long way to go, and you need to be there by three sharp. This is no time for altruism! Go!”
Meanwhile, Dolores, who had been asleep, woke up.
“What an idiot!” Max muttered.
“The tough, sensitive guy,” said Dolores, mockingly.
Then she rolled onto her side.
Since there was less traffic, Kreshnik drove at lightning speed. Barring any unforeseen events, it wouldn’t take more than a half hour to get to Long Beach. Kreshnik revved up the engine even more but suddenly realized the police could catch him and fine him more easily. Then the thing he dreaded most could happen: the police could search him and discover the drugs in the lining of his jacket. After that, he would be arrested and put in jail.
Kreshnik approached another residential area and took the road that divided the neighborhood in half. Fear gripped him when he almost hit a car; then he passed two workers unloading goods from a truck. At that point, he was forced to drive on the sidewalk, but he managed to maintain control of the motorcycle. He trembled, however, when the gas gauge was almost on empty.
He cursed. Then, after he wracked his brains, he remembered there was a gas station close by. He parked the motorcycle and hurried toward the attendant, an old man who was almost falling asleep.
“Please hurry!” said Kreshnik, in a frenzy.
He told the attendant how many gallons of gas he needed, handed him a bill, ran to one of the pumps, filled up the motorcycle, and practically flew away.
“Sir, you forgot your change!” the attendant yelled after him. But Kreshnik didn’t even look back. He disappeared as if the darkness had swallowed him. The cashier was shocked to discover that Kreshnik had left him a fifty-dollar bill. More frightened than stunned by his appearance, the attendant immediately called the police. He always kept that number on his desk.
“Hello,” he said. “A motorcyclist just came into the gas station. He looked crazy. He had a lot of change and didn’t take it. Maybe he’s a troublemaker or criminal.”
The attendant squinted as the officer asked him for more information.
“The motorcycle? It looked sporty. The color? Black. He also wore a black jacket and black gloves.”
Kreshnik had just reached Long Beach. He looked at his watch. It was twenty to three. He had time. He drove through the streets with their early morning traffic. Suddenly, he heard a shrill siren behind him. He turned and saw a police car in the distance. He recognized it by its blood-red light. Its ominous rays shone on him.
“Who are they after?” said Kreshnik to himself. He shuddered when he saw he was the only one in the car’s direct line of sight. He answered his own question. “They’re after me! But how did they find me?” Then he remembered and cursed. “The gas station … running to the cash register … the bill … the shouts of the attendant who wanted to give Kreshnik his change … running like a crazy person toward the motorcycle … Now, the police pursued him! (Continue)
Click here for Part-1, Part-2, Part-3, Part-4, Part-5, Part-6, Part-7, Part-8, Part-9, Part-10, Part-11, Part-12, Part-13, Part-14, Part-15, Part-16, Part-17, Part-18,
__________________
About the Authors
Carrie Hooper was born and raised in Elmira, New York. She has been blind since birth. She received a B.A. in vocal performance from Mansfield University, Mansfield, Pennsylvania. She went on to receive an M.A. in German and an M.A. in vocal performance from the State University of New York at Buffalo. After completing her studies, she spent a year at the Royal University College of Music in Stockholm, Sweden as a Fulbright scholar. Carrie currently lives in Elmira, New York. She taught German, Italian, and Romanian at Elmira College. She has a passion for foreign languages and in addition to the languages mentioned above, she is also proficient in Swedish, Spanish, and Albanian. Music also plays an important role in Carrie’s life. She teaches voice and piano lessons, gives vocal concerts, plays the piano and organ at a church, and sings in a community chorus. Carrie not only loves music and languages, but also enjoys poetry. She has published three books: “Piktura në fjalë” (“Word Paintings”), a bilingual collection of poetry (Albanian-English), “My Life in My Words”, and “Away from Home.” She has also translated texts from Albanian and Romanian to English.
Skifter Këllici was born in Tirana, Albania and received a diploma in history and literature from the University of Tirana. He worked as a journalist, scholar, and sportscaster on radio and television. He is the author of several novels and nonfiction books, including the children’s books, “Memories of the Old Neighborhood” and “In the Footsteps” as well as the historical novels, “Assassination in Paris”, “The Murderer with the White Hands”, and “September Disaster.” He wrote the screenplay for “In the Footsteps” which won a special prize at the International Children’s Film Festival in Giffoni, Italy in 1979. He has lived in Boston, Massachusetts since 1999.
[The book ‘Disastrous September is being reproduced in episodes with the consent of the author]
