The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
Chapter VIII
Wilma was immersed in Kreshnik’s poem in “The Literary Magazine.” After she read it, she lifted her head and said, “You’re right, Mary. He dedicated it to you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Didn’t you tell me that while you were treating his adoptive father, James, Kreshnik couldn’t take his eyes off of you?”
Mary nodded.
“His poem may be just an artistic recollection of a forgotten love affair.”
“I agree,” said Mary, although she thought otherwise.
“Whether he forgot about it or not, you did the right thing to apologize to him. Unfortunately, the police brutally beat him right in front of you. But that’s water under the bridge.”
Mary remained silent. Then, Wilma said, “I forgot to ask you when Charlie is coming home from Los Angeles.”
“The day after tomorrow. It was a long international symposium.”
“You’re saying that because you can’t wait for him to come home,” said Wilma, mockingly.
Mary didn’t know how to respond. She and Wilma were so deep in conversation, they did not realize that Ralph had come in. He waved to them. When he saw he had startled Mary, he teased, “Have you been lonely without Charlie? Sometimes you need time alone. You know why? Because that makes you long for him and love him even more.”
Mary smiled. Ralph went to a closet, took out a military coat, and sat next to Mary and Wilma.
“Mary, I forgot to tell you,” Wilma burst out. “Congratulate Ralph. Today was his first day as head of the narcotics division for his area.”
“Charlie told me the good news the day before yesterday, but he wasn’t sure it was true. Congratulations, Ralph!”
“Thank you very much, Mary. Scott will be working with me. He’s getting engaged to Violet.”
“That’s wonderful!” said Mary and Wilma, almost in unison.
“Why did you put on that coat, Ralph? Do you have to work tonight?” asked Wilma.
“Yes,” he answered.
Just then, his cell phone rang. He listened carefully.
“What? … Absolutely. I’ll be right there.”
He looked at his watch.
“But you just got here!” Wilma said.
“It’s an emergency. The officers from our division just caught a drug trafficker. It was a major operation! We hope he will help us catch others. We decided to carry out surprise raids tonight in a few bars, nightclubs, and houses. I think we’ll catch some more drug dealers. Since it’s supposed to rain, I came to get my raincoat.”
Mary suppressed a scream. What if Kreshnik was selling drugs right now in one of those bars or nightclubs even though he had told Mary he transported drugs from one city to another.
“I feel sorry for those people,” said Wilma. “But I have no patience with people who take drugs. Many of them shuffle their feet, shake, vomit, and stammer. Their faces look pale and distorted, and they goggle. Later, you find corpses on street corners with needles in their hands.”
“I don’t have much use for drug addicts, either,” said Ralph, and his open face grew sullen. “And I have absolutely no tolerance for the people who make and sell drugs, even a few milligrams. It makes me angry just talking about them. I will do everything in my power to bring them to justice. I will not show them any mercy!”
Dressed in his police uniform, Ralph looked as if he were about to take extreme measures. His voice boomed for everyone to hear and reached the remotest corners where people made and sold drugs. Those whom Ralph Kallagan called evil and rotten made themselves as small as possible when they heard his words. They had nowhere to hide. Kreshnik was one of them.
Mary felt weak and small when Ralph almost shouted in anger, “May they be punished to the fullest extent of the law!” He lit a cigarette, and, as if remembering something, said to Mary, “One of my subordinates told me that poor Kreshnik won’t give up his first love, alcohol. I’m sorry to say it will do him in. Why wasn’t he like his father, the Albanian I told you about?”
“Why do you keep bringing that up?” asked Mary with disdain.
“Scott told me he saw Kreshnik going into a bar one day. Apparently the wretch still thinks about you. If he causes another disturbance, I will cuff him even if he is the son of an honorable Albanian. If I find out he’s into drugs!”
Mary almost let out a scream. On the one hand, as a cousin and close friend of Wilma, she felt it her duty to rise from her chair and cry, “Catch him, Ralph, by all means! Throw Kreshnik in prison! He, too, is a drug trafficker!” On the other hand, although she knew she had to do something, she did not know what she should do.
“I’m leaving,” said Ralph, looking at his watch again. “First, we’re going to question that big fish. Wilma, Mary, I’ll probably see you again when Charlie gets back from Los Angeles.”
Ralph said good-bye, put on his coat, and left.
Mary and Wilma were silent for a few minutes.
“What if something happens to Kreshnik?” Mary asked.
“And what could possibly happen to him?” Wilma replied, opening her eyes with surprise. “With Ralph, death is always around the corner, especially now that he is dealing with drug traffickers. Kreshnik is not one of them.”
“That’s true, but if he gets drunk, he could cause another disturbance.”
“Don’t you intend to find him and help him?” said Wilma, mockingly.
“Oh, Wilma, you’re funny!” Mary said and giggled.
Then, not knowing why, she rose and got ready to leave.
“What do you say we get something to eat before work?” asked Wilma.
“I’m not hungry. I just realized I have to go to the hospital early to check on a patient we operated on last night. I promised him…
Without finishing her sentence, Mary picked up her bag from a nearby chair, kissed Wilma on the cheek, and left quickly.
Wilma accompanied Mary to the end of the corridor. Then, from the window, she watched her get into her car and speed off.
“Why did she make up that innocent-sounding story?” she wondered. She was overcome by sadness and sensed something bad was about to happen. To be sure, Wilma and Ralph were older than Mary and Charlie, but they were still close. What’s more, Mary was her cousin. However …
While Mary and Wilma were discussing Kreshnik’s poem, James was fixing a late breakfast. Kreshnik had woken up late. He wore the same outfit he had worn the night before, but he had shaved his beard. He looked sullen.
When he examined himself in the bathroom mirror, he was stunned. He saw a young man with his hair parted in the middle and falling down around his forehead. His eyes looked curious, as if they could not believe they belonged to the same person. His soft face shone in the sunlight streaming in through the window. He remembered what Mary had told him, that if he took her advice, the change in his appearance would surprise him.
“You see how attractive you’ve become?” his reflection seemed to say. “Keep it up, and women will be crazy about you.”
“If only one woman were crazy about me,” he said to himself and felt a twinge of sadness. “The one I’m supposed to meet in a few hours, Mary.”
Kreshnik shuddered at the thought. Would Mary allow it or would she scream when she saw him? Would she call the police, maybe even Ralph Kallagan? This time, Ralph would cuff him and throw him in prison for who knew how long.
“Nik, is that you or am I seeing things?” asked James, surprised. His jaw nearly dropped.
“It’s me all right. How do I look?”
“Wonderful, but I liked you better before. Did Max tell you to change your appearance?”
“No, but last night, I got a call and was told to be at his office by noon.”
“By Max himself?”
“No, someone else gave me the message.”
James wrinkled his forehead, shook his head, and smiled.
“Do you have a date with that Davenport girl? If she has an itch, I would scratch it, but in secret, since she is engaged now,” said James, giving Kreshnik a devilish look.
“Another one of your song and dance routines,” said Kreshnik. “I’m trying to tell you, it’s over between us.”
“Be honest with me. Why did you cut your hair and shave your beard?”
Kreshnik did not respond. He felt a chill when he thought about his meeting with Max Cooper.
He sat across from Max and listened to him with aloofness.
“That’s not a good enough reason for not going to Sacramento,” said Max coldly, after a brief pause. “If indeed you have constant stomachaches, headaches, and who knows what else, why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“They went away for a long time, but then they started again this morning,” Kreshnik explained.
“You’re going tonight and that’s final!” Max interrupted. His lips and the ends of his mustache trembled. “Or I’ll take you to the hospital and we’ll see about your pain!”
Kreshnik felt weak. He had told James that if Max should call him, he should tell him Kreshnik really was sick. But he never dreamed his dirty boss would go that far.
Just then, Max’s cell phone rang. When he answered it, his face fell, his eyebrows darkened, and he rubbed his mustache. He sighed after he hung up.
“I have some bad news,” he said, without looking at Kreshnik. “We’re postponing your trip to Sacramento. The police arrested a young man for the kind of stuff we do. I don’t know his name or anything else about him. He’s not one of ours. So no matter how much the police threaten him, he won’t rat us out. But they have their eye on us. We’re not going anywhere for now.”
Max rose from his chair and paced the floor. Kreshnik breathed a sigh of relief.
“For safety’s sake, I want you to bring the drugs here around midnight from that house on State Street. I will be here.”
Kreshnik nodded.
“I’m sorry, Nik,” said Max, sitting next to him. “You may be sick. We are humans after all. But as I’ve told you before, we have to make sacrifices. We can wait, but our work can’t.”
Trying to look apologetic, he continued, “Forgive me that I spoke to you harshly after you returned from Los Angeles, but I had no choice. The police and other untrustworthy individuals are merciless.” Then, changing the subject, he said, “How’s James?”
“As well as can be expected for an old man.”
“I’ve known him for years, and if I had started my business a few years earlier, he would have been one of my best coworkers. But when he asked if he could work for me because he needed the money, I told him he was too old. But once, he persuaded me to help him. He asked me for money.”
Kreshnik’s brow darkened.
“Did you know James was a gambler?”
Kreshnik nodded. (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, Part-22, Part-23,
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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]
