The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Two days after her meeting with Kreshnik, Mary was in bow with Charlie. She was still immersed in an emotional whirlpool, and it seemed Charlie was trying to pull her out of the water, exactly what she wanted him to do. He gave her the pleasure which comes from a supernatural force, but it lasted such a short time it felt like a mirage, the blink of an eye, the collision of two meteors which shatter into a thousand pieces without leaving a trace. Mary had expected the sparks she and Charlie had created would become a fire that would burn without consuming them. After an almost divine pause, they would unite again, and sparks would fly for the second time, the third time, maybe even more. Then, Charlie and Mary would sleep peacefully.
But just as Mary tightened her arms around Charlie and insisted he stay with her longer, he sighed deeply, as if exccausted, and lay on the bed while Mary looked at him in the dim, drowsy light of the street lamps and headlights. She waited in vain. Charlie was sound asleep. Perhaps this was an indication of fear. Maybe Charlie thought he could not do anything more to please his soon-to-be wife. Mary did not know what to think. Only Charlie knew the truth. As she had done a few nights before, she cautiously moved her lips toward Charlie’s ear and whispered sweetly, “Charlie, Darling, I’ve told you before, don’t leave me so soon. Stay long enough for us to enjoy our God-given pleasure.”
Charlie smiled guiltily, put on his glasses, looked at his watch, and said, “My dear, what if I go to the institute for a while? I want to finish the experiment I told you about. Or we can go out if you want.”
Charlie’s words stunned Mary, but she kept her composure.
“Sure. You can work on your experiment tomorrow.”
“You’re right, but if you were me, you wouldn’t see it that way. You may become a doctor one day. You are following the progress of a patient’s illness. It’s been a long haul but he’s finally improving. He’s going home a healthy man. Wouldn’t you run to the hospital that afternoon out of curiosity to find out how he is feeling?”
“Absolutely. I have done that as a nurse,” she replied, caressing the tip of Charlie’s nose.
“That’s how it is with me. But I won’t go to the institute right now. I’m at your service. The Kallagans were invited to a wedding in Santa Barbara. Tonight we’ll go where you wish: to the movies or to a restaurant. Or we can go for a walk. I’ll take you to the moon if you want!”
He smiled broadly and embraced her.
“Would you do one thing for me?” Mary asked.
“Since I promised to take you to the moon, why not?”
“I know you don’t like it, but I’d like to go to the opera. Tonight they’re doing Madama Butterfly.”
“The opera where a Japanese girl commits suicide because the American officer with whom she has a child abandons her?”
Mary nodded.
“Then he returns, and when he finds her dead, he cries, `Butterfly! Butterfly!`”
“Exactly. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“I don’t understand opera, but if you like it, why not? It’s more important that you get better. You finally got over the incident with that rotten Kreshnik.”
After he finished speaking, Charlie grew somber and headed for the bathroom. Mary felt something like the point of a scalpel stabbing her. If only a magical scalpel could remove the cerebral hemisphere that revived Kreshnik’s image! Charlie brought him up and would surely continue to do so, speaking of him with more and more disdain.
To rid herself of these negative thoughts, Mary got up, dressed, and turned on the TV. She flipped through various channels with the remote control. Suddenly, she landed on CNN. They were presenting a report by a correspondent in the Mexican city of Aguilila. Mary would have changed the channel, but soldiers caught her attention, who, according to the correspondent, were part of Mexican Army units. They had made a surprise helicopter landing and were burning marijuana fields. “These are pictures of villagers on the plains near the cities of Uruapan, Lazaro Cardenas, and Acapulco who were arrested. They had been forced by the drug bosses to grow marijuana,” the correspondent continued. “Thirty-eight fields near the aforementioned cities have been burned. The soldiers will set fire to 1800 more, a surface area of several hundred square miles.”
Mary followed the report closely; the images disturbed her. Then she saw one of CNN’s most well-known commentators.
“According to the State Department,” he said, “America gets 70-90 per cent of its drugs from Mexico. The bosses make hundreds of millions of dollars.”
Mary hung on the commentator’s every word. He had no idea she was among the millions of people all over the world who watched him. The commentator added that the money made from drug trafficking was used to finance gangs of criminals and to buy weapons. The gangs that cultivated and produced drugs terrorized the residents of Mexican cities and villages so they would not report them to the police.
Mary shuddered when the commentator said the police had initiated successful operations in the cities of southern California to catch criminals who worked with Mexican gangs which produced and sold marijuana. Police informants received large sums of money as payment.
As soon as the commentator mentioned the words “marijuana producer” and “drug trafficker”, Mary held her breath for fear that, God forbid, she would hear Kreshnik’s name among those wanted for such crimes, or worse yet, she would see him on TV, in handcuffs, accompanied by Ralph Kallagan himself. To be sure, whoever turned Kreshnik into the police would receive a handsome reward while Kreshnik himself would go to prison for a long time.
Suddenly, Mary wondered, “But what do I care what happens to him? I know his secrets. I know he produces and sells drugs, but I will not tell anyone, not even Wilma and Ralph. I gave him my word as is the custom in Albania. It’s not my fault if he suffers at the hands of others. After all, I’m through with him.”
But that was not true; therefore, Mary sobbed. Suddenly, she felt someone touching and embracing her. She was so lost in thought she did not realize it was none other than Charlie who had just come out of the bathroom.
“What’s the matter, Darling?” he asked, taking her in his arms. “You would only get that upset if one of your family members was a drug dealer.”
Mary, surprised that she had not seen Charlie come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, attempted a smile.
“Now would I have such a relative?! How can you think such a thing?”
“I was joking, Dear,” he said, taking her in his arms again. “But anyone who has anything to do with drugs should pay the price. Unfortunately, there are a lot of them here in San Diego. At least, that’s what Ralph told me. He also told me something else.”
Charlie put his hand to his mouth as if he were afraid someone was hiding and would hear his secret. He bent toward Mary and whispered, “He may be appointed head of the San Diego Narcotics Division.”
Mary felt like she had just awakened from a nightmare. She had thought Charlie would tell her Kreshnik was one of the people on Ralph Kallagan’s most wanted list.
“Those jerks who produce or sell that poison better watch out! They will be caught,” said Charlie, proudly. “They won’t be able to hide from Ralph Kallagan!”
Although she was overwhelmed, Mary smiled and said, “That’s right, Charlie.”
For several days afterwards, Mary watched the morning and midday TV news before she went to work. She only cared about the crime reports. She saw stories about murders, robberies, accidents, and arrests, above all, of those wanted for drug-related offenses.
After she had watched interviews on CNN and especially after Charlie had informed her that Ralph would be appointed head of the narcotics division, Mary prayed to God that Kreshnik would not be one of his victims.
Late one evening, something unimaginable happened. After a short break, Mary sat at one of the tables in the hospital cafeteria and ordered a drink. She had bought “The Literary Magazine” as she sometimes did and had started to leaf through it. She read some of the poems in the poetry section but did not pay attention to the names or pictures of the authors. When her eyes grew heavy with fatigue, she caught sight of the title of one of the poems, “If I Were”, and started to read it:
“If I were the one who suddenly fell,
And you the one who bent over me,
If I were with you every moment,
And could call the hospital my home,
If my face, not his,
Were the one you touched,
If I, like a child,
Could immerse myself in your glances!” (Continues)
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, Part-19, Part-20, Part-21,
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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]
