The novel ‘A Woman between Two Men’, with an Albanian-American Theme, is authored by Carrie Hooper and Skifter Këllici
She smiled and nodded while she continued to bandage his arm. Kreshnik, with his hands on his knees, remained silent. Mary bent her head in such a way that her hair brushed against Kreshnik’s arm. She was about to pick up the bandage she had dropped when suddenly, she almost lost her balance. She put a hand on Kreshnik’s shoulder to steady herself, and their cheeks touched.
“Oh, forgive me, Nik. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she almost shouted, surprised, and gently put her hand on his shoulder. He shuddered.
“Not at all, Miss Davenport.”
“Please, don’t call me Miss Davenport, just Mary. I will call you Nik. I don’t want to be distant with a person who risked so much for me. What’s more, you recognized me.”
“Thank you, Mary. That’s what I’ll call you,” said Kreshnik, overjoyed.
Mary’s conversation with Kreshnik had made her head spin. She had not recognized him at first, but later, she had remembered him. As they talked, memories flooded back to her. Meanwhile, her friend, Wilma Kallagan, a woman of about thirty with an oval face and short, dark hair, was in the hotel room where she and her husband, Ralph, would be spending the night. She was looking at a fashion magazine when her cell phone rang. She answered it.
“Hello, Ralph. Are you on the way?”
“Not yet. I’m heading out now,” he replied.
“Why? What happened?”
“Gunfire broke out at a cafe. A fight with a couple of drunks.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Thank God, only two people were wounded. One was a pedestrian just minding his own business. But don’t worry. I’m coming with Scott. His car broke down.”
“What about Violet?”
“No, the head manager needed her to stay for some urgent business. Are you with Mary?”
“She went to a silver shop. I think she will be back soon.”
While she finished bandaging the wound, Mary recalled how Kreshnik had come to the hospital a few days after the old man James, with whom he lived, had recovered. He had waited until she had finished her shift at 11:00 P.M. Before she got in her car, he had walked up to her and, with his head bowed, as if he had been caught red-handed, had asked her to apologize to the doctors once again for his rudeness. But why had he said those words to her and not to the doctors themselves?
Mary had been struck by the way this young man had spoken. His face looked numb under the bright neon lights. When their eyes had met, he had lowered his eyes in shame as if he had not come to apologize, but had come for some other purpose. Afterwards, he had left reluctantly as if he had wanted to continue their conversation.
At that time, Mary and Kreshnik had not talked much. They had mainly talked about James who told a joke or two that made Kreshnik and Mary die with laughter. Oddly enough, Mary, too, had wanted to continue the conversation that had been interrupted before it had gotten started. She had not forgotten Kreshnik’s bony face, those lips which opened slowly, as if they weighed every word carefully, the look in his eyes that seemed to plead for mercy as if he were standing before a teacher who was about to scold him.
“Do you know what happened to me a few weeks ago?” Mary asked, fluttering her eyelids. “I was passing by a bus station when all of a sudden, I saw a young man who looked like you. He almost ran by me as if someone were following him. He seemed to notice me but did not stop. After that, he disappeared. It was as if the surrounding crowds swallowed him up. That must not have been you. Even if you had been busy, surely you would have greeted me. Was it you or was I imagining things?”
Mary’s words surprised Kreshnik. He knit his brow for a moment and tried to remember the events Mary was talking about.
“No, that must have been someone else. Even if I had been busy, I would definitely have met you,” he said. He was relieved she hadn’t forgotten him. She had even thought of him, supposing him to be the other person she had seen at the bus stop.
“I thought the same thing,” said Mary.
Then she realized it had been awhile since she had seen this Kreshnik Germeni. She had heard his name for the first time when he had mentioned it to the emergency room receptionist who filled out the form for the patient he had brought in. Mary had sometimes thought about Kreshnik, but after several months of working with many other patients and their families, she had almost forgotten him. And now, he had reappeared under the strangest of circumstances, and he had changed completely. His hair had grown to below his neck. He had a thick beard and thick mustaches. In short, he looked hardened yet pleasant.
When Mary bent down even more so she could finish treating Kreshnik’s wound, he felt her breath like a light breeze on his neck. Her aroma was as refreshing as the gentle, late afternoon ocean waves. Kreshnik saw Mary’s well-crafted arms and the way she raised and lowered her chest slowly as if she feared she would hurt him. The opening in the front of her dress revealed the upper part of her breasts. Mary had her legs crossed, and Kreshnik could see part of her thighs which made her look seductive. But then Kreshnik felt embarrassed and looked away as if he had been caught in the act.
“Does your cut hurt, Nik,” Mary asked suddenly, looking at him kindly.
“A little,” he managed to say through his teeth. He had been so tense he had not felt the pain.
“Tomorrow or the day after tomorrow at the latest, you should go to a clinic to have your wound tended to again. Otherwise, it could become infected,” she said.
Mary wanted to add that Kreshnik should have his wound treated at the hospital where she worked, but she stopped herself.
“I have to go now,” she said, attempting to hide the sudden disappointment she felt. “I have to go to the hotel. My friend is waiting for me, the wife of Ralph Kallagan, a police chief in San Diego. I will always be grateful to you for everything you did for me.”
Kreshnik was stunned when he heard the name Ralph Kallagan which he had also heard during Mary’s conversation with the owner of the silver shop.
“Would you like to come with me?” Mary asked, eyeing him closely. “I would like to introduce you to this man who is called the “man of steel” because murderers, robbers, and especially drug traffickers are afraid of him.”
Mary’s words stunned Kreshnik even more.
“Why are you hesitant? When I tell Ralph Kallagan about your heroic act, he and his wife, Wilma, will burst with pride. Ralph will even invite journalists to interview you for television stations in San Diego or all over California. You might even end up on national television. I repeat, what you did was no small feat. You put your life in danger.”
Mary spoke openly but noticed that Kreshnik was even more taken aback.
“Come with me, Nik!” she urged.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice flat, “but I did not undertake this act you call heroic in order to appear in newspapers or on television. I did it because I felt I had to.”
Mary saw Kreshnik blush. His thick beard could not conceal that.
“Please, Mary, don’t tell anyone what happened in the park, especially not Ralph Kallagan. I beg you.”
He was silent for a moment. His eyes grew foggy. Mary did not know what they concealed.
“Still,” he added, “it would be a pleasure to accompany you to your hotel.”
The fog that had covered Kreshnik’s eyes like a heavy curtain lifted, and his eyes shone.
Mary nodded.
While they were walking, Mary’s cell phone rang. She took her phone out of her bag.
“Hello, Wilma,” she said. “What? You’re going to be late? Why? What happened?”
Mary listened attentively to her friend’s explanations, and her face fell.
“Bye, Wilma,” she said finally and hung up. She turned to Kreshnik and said, “It seems our weekend is not going as planned.”
“Why? What happened?” he asked shyly.
“Something came up with Ralph Kallagan in San Diego. He has not come yet. His wife, Wilma, a nurse like me, is on her way to the hospital with an elderly woman who fell. She doesn’t know when she’ll be back.”
Mary and Kreshnik were both quiet for a moment.
“What do you say I stay with you while Wilma is gone?” Kreshnik suggested, his heart pounding. He thought Mary would be caught off guard by his boldness. But instead, she seemed somewhat pensive.
“Where can we go?” she asked after a brief pause.
“To a nearby club,” he replied. A heavy weight seemed to fall from his shoulders.
“To a club with a man I met at the hospital and whom I have met again, whose looks scare me the moment I see him, but who risked so much for me,” said Mary to herself.
“Let’s go,” she said aloud. (Continues)
Click here for Part-1, Part-2, Part-3, Part-4, Part-5,
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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]
