The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Suddenly, in the deepening darkness, the noise of an approaching car startled him. He grew numb with fear, fumed, and hid behind a tall tree by the side of the road.
A young man with a hat drove the car, and a girl sat beside him. They sang along with a song that blared from the radio. Suddenly, during a turn, not far from the tree where Kreshnik was hiding, at the bottom of the barren hill, the girl froze and stopped singing when she saw flames that not even the driving rain could extinguish. With her head still turned in the direction of the flames, she elbowed her friend. Taken by surprise, he, too, stopped singing and looked at her.
“It looks like a car is on fire down there,” she said, pointing toward the flames.
The young man stopped the car, got out, and went to the side of the road. In the distance, Nik crouched even lower behind the tree for fear the man might see him. He took his revolver out of his jacket pocket in case he needed to use it. But the man, tired, it seemed, of the rain, and soaked to the skin, hurried back to his car and sat behind the wheel.
“Yes, a car was on fire,” he told the girl.
“That’s awful! Maybe it slid down the hill because the driver was going too fast,” she said.
“I think so,” he replied.
“I hope to God that only the driver was inside!”
“He may have escaped. He may have been hurt and may be in deep trouble.”
“What if those robbers were in the car?”
“What robbers?”
“The ones who robbed that bank in San Diego. Did you forget they mentioned it on the radio a little while ago?”
“Maybe,” he said after he thought for a minute. “I will call the police.”
The man grabbed his cell phone.
It was only after the car was out of sight that Nik took a deep breath as if he had awakened from a creepy nightmare. He made his way down the hill. He held his bag in one hand and held onto the wet grass with his other hand so he would not lose his balance. Suddenly, he started to roll down the hill like a ball. He instinctively clutched his bag even tighter.
He tried to stop himself but realized he could not. Something sharp, a stone or a piece of iron, tore his jacket and cut him in the stomach. A muffled scream escaped his lips. Eventually, he ended up at the bottom of the hill.
He wanted to get up and move on. Therefore, he put his hand on the wet ground, steadied himself, and was surprised to find a wet packet. He took it, put it under his shirt, looked up, and cursed when he discovered that other packets had fallen out of his inner jacket pockets and were scattered here and there a little farther up the steep hill. As the torrential downpour continued, Nik left his bag and struggled up the hill on his hands and knees. But he slid in the mud which made the hill even more slippery.
He could hardly breathe. He continued to struggle up the hill until he reached the place where the packets had fallen. He put some of them in his jacket pockets and held the remaining ones in his muddy hands. Then he looked down, closed his eyes, and let himself slide back down the hill to where he had left his bag.
He stayed there for a little while and let the rain cool his face, put aside the packets he still held in his hands, unzipped his jacket, and saw the blood stain on the right side of his stomach under his shirt. He touched the bloody area and bit his lower lip in pain. He grabbed the packets which he had put aside, put them as best he could in his bag, and started to run.
When he entered a small forest, he leaned against the trunk of an old oak tree for a few minutes to catch his breath. But his legs would not hold him up, and he fell to his knees. Unable to get comfortable, he lay down next to the oak tree. He had not been there long when he heard the barking of dogs. He jumped up, pulled his revolver from his belt, grabbed his bag, and started to run. The dogs came closer, and their barks became more audible. Nik realized they were following him.
He started to run again and came to the stream Max Cooper had told him about on the phone. The water had risen and now flooded the forest. In order to cover his tracks, Nik went into the stream and walked along it, still clutching his bag and his revolver. He fell, and the torrential current swallowed him for a few minutes. He got up, then fell again. He picked up his bag and extended his hands in front of him so the current would propel him forward. If he did not cover his tracks, the police and their dogs would find him.
The rain had stopped. Although the pain of his wound had exhausted him, Nik did not stop running.
Meanwhile, the dogs, along with the police, who carried guns and electric lasers, followed Nik’s tracks and arrived at the stream. The dogs barked loudly, wagged their tails, and lifted their noses high in the air, but they could not go any farther because the tracks stopped at the swollen stream. The police walked along the stream in the hope they would find the criminals who had robbed the bank on Washington Street in San Diego.
Nik left the stream and the forest behind. He did not let go of his bag or his revolver. In the darkness, he could make out the shadows of the bridge, and he approached it. Since no one appeared to be in the vicinity, he crawled under it. The water from the flooded stream did not reach the concrete sides of the bridge. His energy spent, Nik lay down as best he could on a dry strip of land. He wanted to stay there as long as he could, but he quickly came to his senses, took out his cell phone, and called Max Cooper. His voice was faint.
“Hello, Boss. It’s me, Nik. I’m hiding under the bridge like you told me to.”
“Good for you, Nik. But do you have all the drugs?” Max sounded worried.
“Absolutely,” Nik replied, scrunching up his lips.
“Wonderful. It’s four o’clock now. Don’t move. I heard on the radio the San Diego and Long Beach police have started their investigations. They even arrived at the place where you rolled the burning car down the hill.”
“Earlier, I heard dogs barking. I figured it was them.”
“Hide as best you can under the bridge. The police and their dogs might scope out that area. I will be there soon.”
“Thank you, Max. Please come as soon as you can.”
“You didn’t get hurt, did you, Nik?”
“I have a slight cut on my stomach. I’m freezing and soaked to the skin.”
“Hold on. I’m coming.” (Continues)
Click here for Part-1,
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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]
