Gambat: Zainab Lateef Shaikh, a young writer from Gambat, has released her debut English-language book, ‘The World is Yours’, an inspiring work aimed at encouraging young readers to believe in their dreams and potential.

The book was published by Shah Inayat Shaheed Publication, Gambat, as part of its initiative to promote emerging literary voices from smaller towns in Sindh. Its release coincided with International Women’s Day celebrations, underscoring the growing contribution of young women to literature and intellectual life.

Zainab, a student and aspiring writer, dedicated her first work to her parents, acknowledging their guidance and encouragement. Her father, Abdul Lateef Shaikh, expressed pride in her achievement, describing the book as a reflection of perseverance, self-confidence, and belief in one’s abilities.

Literary circles in Gambat have welcomed the publication, noting that the rise of young female writers signals a positive cultural shift in the region. Observers say that the increasing participation of girls in literary activities bodes well for the future of education and creative expression in smaller towns.

The book is expected to attract readers of motivational writing and youth literature, while highlighting how voices from regional communities are increasingly finding space in the literary landscape.

Bibliophile Ramesh Raja congratulated Zainab, saying, “Zainab Latif makes Gambat proud. The emerging literary talent of girls in Gambat is truly inspiring. Her book, ‘The World is Yours’, carries a powerful and motivational message. Everyone should read it—and encourage their children to do the same. We also appreciate Shah Inayat Publication for presenting such meaningful work.”

The publication of Zainab’s book marks an encouraging moment for young writers in Gambat, reflecting both personal achievement and a broader cultural awakening in regional literature.

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Read: Buying Books But Not Reading

The post Message of Dreams and Determination first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Recently, the new book by Albanian author Angela Kosta, titled Nostalgia of Infinity has been published in Spanish.

Nostalgia of Infinity is an intense poetic work that immerses the reader in the author’s soul, addressing universal themes such as love, historical memory, women, nature, and love for the earth. The selected poems in this book explore the relationship between humans and their environment, as well as the emotions that arise from personal and collective experiences.

Translated by the renowned Venezuelan poet Mariela Cordero and with a cover designed by the well-known artist Catia Pugliese, this book carries a powerful voice that traverses various social and daily realities, inviting reflection on life, pain, but also on the beauty of existence. The author gives a voice to painful historical moments, such as the Holocaust, while celebrating human resilience and showing profound respect for historical memory and universal values.

Through delicate and precise prose, ‘Nostalgia of Infinity’ expresses the desire to find meaning and hope in a world that, while full of challenges, also holds moments of pure beauty. This book will undoubtedly touch the hearts of those who seek to better understand the connection between the individual and society, between the Earth and love…

BIOGRAPHY OF ANGELA KOSTA

Angela Kosta was born in Elbasan (Albania) and has lived in Italy since 1995. She is Executive Director by the magazine MIRIADE, translator, essayist, journalist, literary critic, publisher and promoter. She has published 25 books: novels, poems and fairy tales in Albanian, Italian, Arabic, French, Korean, Turkey, Spanish and English. The proceeds of his two books in Italy were donated to the non-profit association for research on Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) and to the Association Daniele Chianelli for scientific research on Leukemia, Tumors and Lymphomas in children and adults. Her poetic volume translated by scholar and writer Hasan Nashid, approved by the Bangladeshi Ministry of Culture, will soon be published in Bengali.

Her publications and translations have been published in various literary magazines and newspapers in several continental and intercontinental countries.

Angela Kosta translates and writes articles and interviews for the newspaper “Calabria Live”, Agorà Giovani,, Saturno magazine, Alessandria Today Magazine, the international magazine “Orfeu:”, the newspaper “Nacional”, Gazeta Destinacioni, Perqasje Italo – Shqiptare, the magazine “Atunis”, she collaborates with the magazines: “International Literature Language Journal (Michigan), Wordsmith International Editorial (Florida), Raven Cage (Germany), Kavya Kishor International Australia & Bangladesh, Sindh Courier (Pakistan), Sada Al Thaqafa (Iraq), Al Masida (Egypt), etc.

She is co-host in several anthologies in: USA, England, India, Bangladesh, Albania, Russia, Germany, Kosovo, etc.

Angela Kosta has translated 170 authors into bilingual: Italian – Albanian and vice versa and has promoted over 600 poets in various national and international literary magazines as well as translating the books of poems by 7 authors. She has also translated the poems of important Italian classics, novelists and many other famous authors.

She has promoted more than 85 artists by publishing the magazine 22 MARKERS ON GLOBAL ART in November 2024 and NUANCES ON THE PANORAMIC CANVAS in January 2025. She has carried out and published in various languages more than 70 interviews with well-known publishers, journalists, writers, artists, authors, and painters.

Angela Kosta is Vice President of the South Korea Writers’ Association, Ambassador for Culture and Peace in various Organization no – profit in: Bangladesh, Poland, Morocco, Canada, Algeria, Egypt, Mexico, Romania, India, etc.

She is also a member of the Writers’ League (LSHASH) and BSHBSH – Italy, Academy of Art and Science America (AAA), Writers Capital Foundation, Women’s Chair UN Approved Women’s Chair and Wikipoetry, Wikipace, Tiberina Academic, The VerbumlandiArt Association approved by the Senate of the Italian Republic, League of Writers and Artists in: Greece, Poland, Hungary, Mexico, Romania, Croatia, India.

In Italy many important newspapers and magazines have written various articles about Angela Kosta. Angela Kosta has been translated and published in 40 foreign languages and foreign countries. In 2024 alone, it has been published in 150 national and international newspapers and magazines, with: poems, articles, interviews, books, reviews, etc. She has received numerous awards from various magazines and newspapers. In 2023, the magazine OBELISK declared her, among others, the best translator with translations of the poet Giosuè Alessandro Giuseppe Carducci, as well as the Moroccan newspaper Akhbar7 proclaimed her the Celebrity Woman for 2023. In 16 January 2025, The International Poetry Translation and Research Centre, the Journal of Rendition of International Poetry (Multilingual), The Board of Directors of World Union of Poetry Magazines – CHINA proclaimed : has been appointed by the IPTRC VOTING INTERNATIONAL EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE AS THE INTERNATIONAL: BEST POET OF THE YEAR 2024.

Angela Kosta has been featured as the Person of the Month on the covers of magazines: Elitè Magazine (Liban), International Literature Language Journal, (Michigan), Saturno Magazine (Italy), Wordsmith International Editorial (Florida), Literary Magazine (Barcelona), Sada Al Thaqafa (Iraq), Oddyse International Literary (Bangladesh) and Humanity Magazine (Venezuela).

Angela Kosta has received the Certification of Doctor Honoris Causa from various universities including: Colombia, Moldova, Yemen, Algeria, Romania, Mexico, and India and recently also from the University of Language and Literature in Morocco by Dean Muhammad Blik and Michael Hislop (Australia).

Read: Poetic diction of Angela Kosta: A brief analysis of Contemporary Multidimensionality

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The post ‘Nostalgia of Infinity’ – A New Book by Angela Kosta first appeared on Sindh Courier.

‏Aziz Al-Moussawi | Baghdad, Iraq

The Islamic Center for Strategic Studies has announced the release of a new book titled The Philosophy of Religion According to David Hume, authored by Sayyed Mohammed Fath Ali Khani and translated by Sayyed Haider Najaf. This publication is part of the Western Studies Series, through which the center aims to explore the complex philosophical dimensions of religion, reflecting its commitment to presenting academic works that enrich intellectual and cultural dialogue.

‏The book is divided into three main sections. The first section delves into the methodology Hume employed in his philosophy of religion, highlighting how he approached religious issues from a rational and empirical perspective. This invites critical reflection on the foundations of faith. The second section reviews the arguments for the existence of God, discussing traditional proofs while presenting the doubts raised by Hume, opening the door for new debates on faith and reason. The third section addresses the subjects of miracles and the origins of religion, offering philosophical interpretations that provoke readers to ponder the nature of faith and the reality of miracles.

‏The philosophy of religion is an ancient field rooted deep in history, but in its modern form, it began to take shape in the 18th century during the Enlightenment, branching into various directions. The book examines the influence of the Scottish philosopher David Hume (1711–1776) in this field, focusing on how he tackled religious issues through rational and empirical reasoning, which impacted traditional religious arguments. With an academic and in-depth style, the book explores topics such as causality, proofs of God’s existence, and miracles, enhancing the understanding of these complex issues.

‏In a statement, Dr. Mohammed Fath Ali Khani, professor of philosophy and theology at the Seminary and University Studies Institute in Qom, expressed his delight in presenting this book to Arab readers. He emphasized the importance of intellectual engagement with Hume’s ideas and the doubts he raised, adding that the book seeks to strengthen the philosophical understanding of religion and open new horizons for intercultural dialogue.

‏This book is a valuable addition to the Arabic library, reflecting a spirit of deep inquiry and critical thinking on religious matters. The Islamic Center for Strategic Studies extends its gratitude to both the author and the translator for their efforts in producing this significant work, which is expected to have a tangible impact on academic and cultural circles while fostering mutual understanding between diverse ideas.

Read: 10 Sindhi books launched in Najaf City of Iraq

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The post Hume’s Philosophy of Religion: New Horizons first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Ralph spotted Mary and was shocked to see her bathed in tears. She looked with longing and sorrow at the speechless young man who, to Ralph’s astonishment, was none other than Kreshnik, but without his thick beard which had made him look rough and somber. He was the complete opposite of his former self. Just as the fabled Phoenix of the Arabian Desert died and became a new bird, so, too, Kreshnik had become a new man, more handsome, without his former killing beauty. His eyes looked sad and guilty, yet at the same time, they reflected an inner calm and gave his face a unique glow.

What had happened? Why had Mary come to Kreshnik’s house at this late hour? What was her connection with this rough, young drunk and drug dealer? When she had seen him outside of Crystal, she had shouted for help and had wanted him removed from the premises for harassing her. Ralph himself had ordered his officers to beat Kreshnik. And Charlie, who looked delirious, why was he there? Why did Mary look so distracted and why the almost lunar face?

Why had lines of sadness begun to appear on her face? When Ralph had told Wilma that Mary and Charlie were a couple to be envied, why had she fluttered her eyelids, forced a fleeting smile, and nodded? Could it be that something had started between them?

In those moments, the furrows of Ralph’s brain seemed to catch on fire and turn into a scattered, formless mass in which those questions, like burning meteorites, crashed and sank into him, creating dizzying and blinding waves of mist.

For the third time, he found himself face to face with Kreshnik. The first time Ralph had seen him, he had gotten drunk at a club. The vapors from the alcohol had appeared to cover his deep blue eyes which had turned a murky green. The second time, after the police had beaten him in front of Crystal, Kreshnik’s eyes had looked beastly and had given off red sparks which seemed to burn his face. Now his eyes looked clear and calm like the sky after a storm. He seemed to have released a heavy burden which he had been carrying for many years.

Totally at ease, Kreshnik reached his large, rough hands out to Ralph and waited for him to cuff him. Scott stood next to Ralph. At that moment, Ralph wanted to share his jumbled thoughts about everything he had witnessed. He felt that if he didn’t, they would heat up and start a fire that would devour him.

During his years as a police chief, Ralph had arrested bank robbers, murderers, financiers, forgers, and corrupt politicians. He had also arrested people who had tried to escape and had shot at officers. Their hands had trembled and they had looked terrified at the thought of their impending interrogation and trial at which they would be sentenced to many years in prison or worse, they would end up in the electric chair or with a needle in their arm.

“I have never felt sorry for criminals,” he said to Scott. “I have always been guided by the principle: `The law is cruel but it’s the law.` But Kreshnik Germeni is different.”

Kreshnik came to himself when Ralph fastened the cold cuffs to his wrists.

“Officer Kallagan,” he said with deep emotion, “I’m not sorry I’m going to prison. I deserve that. But I’m sorry the world will learn this was the fate of the son of a courageous Albanian who was murdered and is still honored today by you Americans.”

Suddenly, a wizened, somber-looking old man with white hair appeared, who was hunched over.

“My name is James Clemens,” he said, his tearful gaze fixed on Ralph. “Don’t take this young man away, kind Sirs. He was a good, bright boy, pure in heart.”

After these stunning words, James burst into tears.

“I, poor unfortunate soul that I am, did not respect the wishes of Kreshnik’s father, Loni Germeni, that brave, noble Albanian. But don’t you remember, Officer Kallagan, that you promised the dying Loni you would send Kreshnik to a children’s home? A promise you immediately forgot. Otherwise, none of this would have happened.”

The wizened old man, who could hardly stand, gave Ralph an angry look. Then he gripped his forearm so hard that he felt a sharp pain. It was amazing how strong this half-man was. Ralph suppressed a scream. After all, James had not shaken him or grabbed his arm in anger as someone else might have. In that case, Ralph would have pushed that person’s hands away, held him down, and probably hit him as he had ordered two of his officers to hit Kreshnik that day in front of Crystal when he had resisted arrest even though he felt he had acted impulsively. Indeed, he felt badly that Mary had witnessed the incident and had fainted as a result.

In those few seconds, Ralph remembered Kreshnik as a little boy just as he had when he had told Wilma, Charlie, and Mary about Kreshnik’s father’s murder. He thought about the wailing child who dried his tears with his hands, those little hands which Ralph had held in his big ones. He remembered the little boy who had laid on his chest and whom he had kissed to alleviate some of the pain of that tragedy.

Now, Ralph placed cuffs on Kreshnik’s hands. The frail, old man who had scolded him had had every right to do so.

“Kreshnik eventually ended up with me,” James continued, his foggy gaze fixed on Ralph. “And instead of teaching him to be like his father, I taught him to be a drunk. Worst of all, I introduced him to the drug business, not because I wanted to, but because Max Cooper, a dirty boss, forced me to do it. If you catch him, you will find out the naked truth. You will learn that Nik trafficked the deadly white powder for Max so I could pay off a debt. If you don’t catch Max, his lover, Dolores, will testify to these dreadful things. This is why I should go to prison, not him.”

Kreshnik remained frozen in place. James threw himself into his arms. Kreshnik wanted to stay as he was for a little while longer, but two officers pulled him aside. James’ words seemed to weigh even more on Ralph, and for the first time in his life, he was overcome by a strange urge to rebel. He was not proud to be arresting this criminal.

At that moment, he began to understand the unimaginable truth when he saw Mary standing a little way off from Kreshnik. Charlie, looking delirious, stood behind Mary. Ralph’s and Mary’s eyes met for an instant. Then, he quickly turned away from her. Suddenly, he felt as if a wall separated him from Mary. Perhaps he would find out more details later.

As twilight fell, the officers put Kreshnik in the car and closed the door. He looked out the window and saw Mary standing like a statue, her sad eyes fixed on him. He would always remember her blue eyes, as blue as a calm sea, which transmitted the words lovers have said to one another for thousands of years: “I love you and will never forget you.”

Meanwhile, Mary recalled some verses by Kadare, the world-renowned Albanian poet, which Kreshnik had whispered to her the night they were alone in a cafe, bathed in the faint glow of a nearby street lamp:

“I will remember

The infinite, quiet evening of your eyes,

The muffled sob that landed on my shoulder

Like invisible snow.”

She watched Kreshnik and felt like the ancient Helen. Just as Paris had taken her from Sparta to Troy, Kreshnik had taken her not to a city, but to his house. He and Charlie, Menelaeus, had not fought a bloody battle like the Greeks and Trojans, and no one had died. Unlike the crafty Greeks, Charlie, Menelaeus, had not kidnapped Mary, Helen, with a horse that was supposedly a gift. Rather, he had gone into that house, alone and unarmed, to take back the woman who belonged to him.

Kreshnik had turned himself into the police. He had told Mary numerous times that he would. Although she had tried to drive that dreadful thought from her mind, she knew Kreshnik had done the right thing. If he had not turned himself in, his guilty conscience would have tormented him for the rest of his life. One day, he might even have been caught and punished severely. But now, his day of reckoning had come. He could receive a short prison sentence since he turned himself in.

After the police cars had disappeared, Charlie was left shaken. He recalled his conversations with Mary and how he had not shown up for dates with her because he had gotten caught up in his work. He had seldom been present with his heart and soul. But soon he would be her husband. When he looked at her from behind and saw the glow of her hair in the twilight, her shoulders, arms, and trunk, he realized he had not gotten to know her and had not appreciated her as he should have. He wanted to remedy the situation as soon as possible. He wanted to be with her all the time, wanted to talk to her about things other than his work, and wanted more excitement with her in bed. In the meantime, the other man, who could have taken Mary away from Charlie, would languish in prison, and Mary would forget him.

She did not look at Charlie. Therefore, in an effort to apologize for the insults he had hurled at her when he had seen her in Kreshnik’s room, he took a few steps toward her, reached out his hand, and touched her hair. But she did not move or turn toward him. She remained a statue, exactly as Kreshnik imagined her. One of Charlie’s fingers found the green ribbon with which Mary had loosely tied her hair. It came undone and slid from her head to her shoulders. Charlie caught it so it wouldn’t fall to the floor. Without realizing what he was doing, he closed his eyes tightly. To his surprise, the light seemed to turn the green ribbon a pale yellow as if it were an autumn leaf. Charlie realized that the apparent change in color was a metaphor for his and Mary’s faded love. (Concludes)

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, Part-24, Part-25, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32, Part-33, Part-34, Part-35, Part-36, Part-37, Part-38, Part-39

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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]

The post Novel: A Woman between Two Men – Part-40 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Belgrade

Belgrade Utopia Publishing House has proudly announced the release of the Serbian translation of Naguib Mahfouz: The Narrator and The Artist by the esteemed Egyptian writer, editor, and journalist Ashraf Aboul-Yazid. This significant work delves into the life and artistry of the Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz, offering readers a profound exploration of his contributions to literature and the arts.

In ‘Naguib Mahfouz: The Narrator and The Artist’, Ashraf Aboul-Yazid skillfully explores the fascinating connection between Mahfouz’s literary works and the visual arts. Focusing on Egyptian artists and illustrators who brought Mahfouz’s stories to life, Aboul-Yazid offers readers a fresh perspective on the author’s profound influence on Arab culture. What makes this book exceptional is not just its thorough research but also how it seamlessly blends the world of words with that of visual expression.

Aboul-Yazid dives deep into Mahfouz’s novels, uncovering layers of meaning and artistic inspiration that might otherwise go unnoticed. From iconic characters like Benamun in The Harafish to broader themes of creativity, beauty, and craftsmanship, the book reveals the deep relationship between literature and visual art, and how they shape cultural identity. Beyond painting, the author expands the conversation to include engravings, sculptures, comics, and other artistic mediums, showcasing how Mahfouz’s storytelling transcends boundaries and inspires reinterpretation through unique and imaginative lenses.

Read: Naguib Mahfouz, the man we all wronged

At its core, this book is a vibrant celebration of Mahfouz’s legacy and its lasting impact on the Arab world’s visual culture. Aboul-Yazid’s thoughtful analysis takes readers on an engaging journey where literature and art intersect, blending words and images into a shared creative space. More than an academic study, it is a testament to the timeless power of storytelling to spark cultural dialogue, inspire introspection, and shape collective identity.

Adding to this remarkable work is a Foreword written by Dr. Ana Stjelja, a renowned writer, editor, and cultural ambassador. Her insightful introduction bridges the narrative, contextualizing Mahfouz’s genius and its resonance in contemporary literature and art.

The Serbian edition of this book is the result of a collaborative effort involving the exceptional translation by Nela Botoški, the meticulous design and prepress by Ivan Trebješanin, and the unwavering support of publisher Srđan Marković, whose visionary approach continues to bring meaningful literary works to life.

This release is a celebration of global collaboration, creativity, and the enduring legacy of Naguib Mahfouz, whose stories continue to transcend borders and cultures.

Read – Samiha Hasanin: The First Woman to Illustrate the Literature of Naguib Mahfouz

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The post Ashraf Aboul-Yazid’s Book on Naguib Mahfouz Released in Serbian first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Kreshnik was going to turn himself in. This was not the first time he had spoken those dreaded words. She, too, had considered that possibility but had driven the thought out of her mind. Otherwise, what she imagined could become reality in the same way the police could really catch him. In any case, she hadn’t believed it would happen so quickly. She had hoped Kreshnik wouldn’t see her and would escape, but she had not wanted him to go to prison right away.

“And when I turn myself in, I will tell the police about Max Cooper and his kind,” Kreshnik continued.

He didn’t tell Mary about the fight with Pedro Oliveira that could have killed him. At that moment, Mary knew what she had to do.

“I’m coming to see you right now,” she said, swallowing her tears.

“Thank you, Mary,” said Kreshnik after a brief pause. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Mary intended to leave her apartment as soon as she hung up the phone, but her legs grew numb, and she fell, exhausted, into bed. She had not noticed that Charlie had been standing in the hallway the whole time she had been talking to Kreshnik on the phone. That morning, after he had called her and discovered she was still mad at him even after he had told her the Kallagans had invited them to their house the following evening, he had decided to play a game with her. He would sneak into her apartment and pretend she had scared him. After that, he would embrace her, talk to her, and spend the night with her.

Charlie had waited for Mary in front of her building and had seen her go in. After she had entered her apartment, he had slowly opened the door with a key she had given him and he, too, had gone in. Now he stood in the hallway, stunned by the things he had heard. He had learned the terrible truth: Mary, his future wife, was in love with another man.

Who was he? Charlie would soon find out. Quickly but cautiously, he descended the stairs of Mary’s apartment complex, jumped in his car, and stopped at a turn so Mary would not see him.

Meanwhile, Mary, after she had lain in bed for a while, got up. It took a great deal of effort to leave her apartment, and in the process, she forgot to close the door. She went down the stairs and headed for her car.

It was midnight. Because the traffic had lessened, Max sailed through the streets of San Diego, then turned onto the highway. He and Dolores occasionally looked in the mirror.

“Do you think they’ve found us?” she asked.

“It doesn’t look like they have,” he replied.

“How far is it to the Mexican border?”

“Less than an hour. But if we run into any problems, we’ll stop at a friend’s house. He lives in a town near the border. He’ll help us across.”

Little did Max know that at that moment, Ralph Kallagan had ordered officers to raid his offices and search his drawers and shelves.

The police, with the help of two dogs, also searched the company building’s cellar. One of the dogs found a box and scratched it with his claws. An officer followed him and observed his movements. Another officer helped him move the box when the dog scratched a part of the floor covered with boards. After they moved the box, they searched the area with flashlights and found packets of drugs.

Charlie drove slowly to allay any suspicions Mary might have had and kept an eye on her car. At one intersection, he thought he had lost her and could barely control his anger. He gave the engine more gas and panicked when he almost hit another car. Still, Mary’s car was easy to spot in the glow of the street lamps which seemed to form waves as the traffic thinned out.

Soon, Charlie saw Mary stop at a one-story house, go through the courtyard, rush toward the house, open the door, and go inside, without ringing the doorbell or knocking, as if she had entered her home. It was obvious she had been there several times before.

“So this is her lover’s abode,” Charlie muttered, screwing up his face. “But who is this pimp?”

He slowed down and parked near Mary’s car. He waited a couple of minutes so as not to draw attention to himself. Then he got out of his car and headed for the house. He looked around to make sure no one was watching him, then entered the dark courtyard. He walked halfway around the perimeter of the house and looked around a second time to ensure no one had seen him. Then he slowly opened the door so it would not make any noise, went inside, and stepped lightly through the hallway. From a room on the left, he heard someone humming a drinking song. He slowly approached the room, and in the light of the street lamps, he saw a man with gray hair, lying on a sofa near the door. He remembered having seen him at the hospital. But what was his relationship to Mary’s lover? Charlie took a few more steps in the darkness. Through the half open door, he heard the voices of a man and a woman. He recognized Mary’s voice, but who was the man?

“So, you’ve decided to turn yourself in?” Mary asked Kreshnik. She touched his face, enveloped in a fog.

“I told you I would one day,” he replied. “I didn’t have the courage to do it that day at the police station. Now I have no choice since Max Cooper could come after you, too. I could escape to Mexico. After all, we are not far from the border. I could live well in Columbia, Venezuela, Brazil, anywhere. But I would be afraid Interpol would catch me like they’ve caught so many others.”

Mary could not hold back her tears.

“Calm down,” said Kreshnik. “You and Charlie will get married now. You must forget me. I should not have come between you. I should be punished for that, too. If I had not approached you, you would have continued to live in peace with him and would not have suffered the way you have.”

Mary nodded bitterly, then said with much emotion, “It’s true I have suffered terribly, but I don’t regret having met you, Nik. With you, I felt fulfilled and discovered what I haven’t found yet in Charlie.”

“Thank you, Mary. Keep the memories you have of me because, as I said in that poem:

`Memories are the ashes of our burned out life,

And with twisted hearts

We stir them

With the hope we will find a small spark

To warm our cold hearts, if only a little.`”

Kreshnik was silent for a moment. Then, he gripped Mary’s hand and continued, “The only difference is, your heart has no reason to be cold. Charlie Smith is a good man with a promising future. A new love will emerge from the love you felt for me, your love for him.”

Until then, Mary had fixed her gaze on Kreshnik’s tired face. Suddenly, her eyes fell on the upper part of his left shoulder and opened wide in terror. She practically shouted, “How did that blood get on your shirt! Did they hurt you?!”

Only then did she notice Kreshnik’s sad, pale face which he had tried in vain to hide from her.

“Yes. Fortunately, it was just a knife wound,” he said.

He told Mary what had happened while she treated his wound with the medicines she always carried with her. Their relationship had started on a beach when Mary had treated a cut under his eyebrow and now it ended, who knew for how long, with her treating a cut on his shoulder, the result of an attack which could have separated them forever.

“Nik,” Mary said, on the verge of tears. “Are you really going through with this?”

“Nik,” Charlie said to himself, stunned, as he stood behind the door. “Which Nik is her lover? Nik Germeni perhaps? No, that’s not possible. Any Nik but him.”

At that moment, his eyes darkened, and fire shot forth from him. As if in a frenzy, he charged into the room and saw Kreshnik and Mary sitting across from each other. Mary had just finished treating the cut on Kreshnik’s shoulder. The two of them barely suppressed a scream when they saw Charlie.

“Charlie, it’s you,” Mary murmured. She turned her head away from him as if she were ashamed to look him in the eye.

“Stay there. Keep doing what you were doing. I heard everything,” Charlie burst out, wild with fury. “How could you trade my love for that foul-mouthed man’s filthy bed? He’s not only a drunk but a drug trafficker, too. He said so himself. And you were going to be my wife!”

Charlie opened his eyes wide and fixed his gaze on Mary. It seemed as if their fire would burn her to ashes.

“I started to suspect you two were in item when you rushed to that jerk’s defense at the restaurant, but I didn’t want to believe it. I also didn’t like how you practically fell on top of him the other night when you treated his wound. But I finally understood what was going on when I sneaked into your apartment in an attempt to scare you. Then, I wanted to embrace you. But what did I hear? My fiancee had a date with that hermaphrodite. And now, here I am, you scabby whore!”

Mary covered her ears. She did not want to hear Charlie’s angry and bitter words.

“Sir, you have the right to be angry with me and to attack me,” said Kreshnik with a calm that surprised Charlie. “But none of this is Mary’s fault. I am to blame. I went after her. After Ralph Kallagan’s officers beat me with animal savagery right in front of you, it was Mary who came to see me, and she apologized for the incident. It was supposed to be our last meeting, but she, seeing I was in danger of being caught by the police, had one goal: to get me away from drugs and alcohol. If I succeed, I owe it to her.”

In his office, Ralph Kallagan listened to Scott’s report.

“We have informed the guards at all of the border crossings,” he said.

“Mr. Cooper and his lady friend have nowhere to go now,” said Ralph. “I would never have guessed that a furniture store served as a front for Mr. Cooper’s drug trafficking business. How’s Pedro Oliveira feeling?”

“He died an hour ago in the hospital. He gave us the names of other drug traffickers whom we still haven’t caught yet.”

“There are more?” Ralph muttered, as if talking to himself. “How many more are hiding behind bosses like Max Cooper? But I don’t understand why Pedro Oliveira mentioned Kreshnik Germeni. Why did Max Cooper have it in for him?”

“Do we need to question Kreshnik?”

“Let’s wait and see what Cooper has to say.”

Max made a left turn. Since the road was straight, he increased his speed. Under normal circumstances, this would have scared Dolores, but now she wished the car would fly.

“We’re coming to the border,” said Max, without concealing his happiness. “I hope the San Diego police didn’t tell the border guards about our escape.”

“Shouldn’t we go to your friend’s house?” asked Dolores.

Max thought for a moment.

“You’re right,” he said. “Let’s go there for a while. Then we can hide in a place from where he has helped us transport drugs a few times.”

“Thank God for your friend,” said Dolores, raising her eyes.

They had almost reached an intersection when Max opened his eyes wide with fear and stopped suddenly.

“What’s the matter?” asked Dolores, startled by the jolt.

“Don’t you see those cars?!” Max stammered.

The two remained frozen in place. Then Max shouted, “It’s the police!”

“What do we do now?” asked Dolores, terrified.

Max did not respond but quickly turned to the right and drove toward a field. He looked in his mirror and saw a police car following him. He sped up, but the police car was catching up to him.

When Max tried to make a left turn, he saw another police car following him. He did not know what to do. He drove on but failed to notice a ditch. He managed to avoid it but lost control of the car. It zigzagged and rolled down a hill. In the meantime, the first police car caught up to Max. Two officers got out and saw his wrecked car in flames at the bottom of the hill.

Charlie listened to Kreshnik’s story. Sometimes he felt his blood rise and his eyes grow big, but he did not interrupt him.

“Today, Mary came to my house just to say good-bye for the last time,” he continued. “Then she planned to come to your house. She was convinced we had ended our relationship for good and that I would leave the awful drug business.”

With those words, Kreshnik got up and took his cell phone out of his pocket.

Ralph was still in his office with Scott.

“So Max died instantly after his car rolled down the hill,” he said. “But what about Dolores? What happened to her?”

“Amazingly enough, she escaped with minor injuries,” said Scott.

“When we question her, I think she’ll give us the names of other people involved in that drug trafficking ring.”

“Could Kreshnik Germeni be one of them?” asked Scott.

“Who knows? He is a drunk. If Max Cooper were alive, he would tell us why he wanted to kill him.”

“Maybe Dolores will tell us.”

“Maybe.”

At that moment, the office phone rang. Scott lifted the receiver.

“My name is Kreshnik Germeni.”

The voice seemed to come from far away. “May I speak to Officer Ralph Kallagan?”

“What did you say your name was, Kreshnik Germeni?” asked Scott, surprised.

Ralph was shocked when he heard the name.

“Yes, Kreshnik Germeni.”

“What is the reason for your call?” asked Scott.

“I have a very important matter to discuss with Officer Kallagan. May I speak to him, please?”

“Ralph, Kreshnik Germeni would like to speak to you,” said Scott, quietly.

Ralph was even more shocked as he took the receiver.

“Ralph Kallagan speaking.”

“Officer Kallagan, several months ago, you ordered your colleague, Officer Scott Norton, to arrest me and hold me at the station for drunken and disorderly conduct. But that day, you should also have arrested me for drug trafficking, a business I was involved in until recently.”

Ralph’s eyes opened wide.

“You a drug trafficker,” he said.

“Exactly. Do you remember an officer in Los Angeles named Eric Torres who gave a riveting interview for newspapers and television?”

“Yes?”

“Torres, when he was in the hospital, said he fought with a robber who wounded him in the head, pinned him down, and pointed his gun at him. But he didn’t shoot him. Instead, he ran away, almost in tears, and threw his gun away. Do you remember that?”

Ralph gave Scott a confused look. Scott could hear Kreshnik’s report on his phone.

“Yes, I remember that incident,” Ralph replied, stunned.

“Well, I was that robber, and I hid packets of drugs in the lining of my leather jacket. Is this act not punishable under the law which I have broken many times?”

“Yes,” Ralph answered, even more stunned.

“I’m ready to turn myself in,” said Kreshnik, his voice more and more agitated.

“No, we’ll come to you,” said Ralph, shaken. “What’s your address?”

Kreshnik gave Ralph his address. Then, exhausted from telling this long story, he sighed, turned to Charlie, and said, “If you think I will change my mind and try to escape, you may come with me, Sir.”

A foggy tiredness overcame Charlie. Kreshnik left the room. Mary did not know why she followed him to the courtyard. Charlie also came outside. Soon, they heard several police sirens. Ralph Kallagan, Scott, and some other officers had arrived. (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, Part-24, Part-25, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32, Part-33, Part-34, Part-35, Part-36, Part-37, Part-38, 

___________________

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]

The post Novel: A Woman between Two Men – Part-39 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Chapter XIII

After Kreshnik left the hospital, he considered calling Mary from a pay phone and asking her to meet him somewhere. But if her colleagues were around, that could create misunderstandings. And even if Mary agreed to meet him, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to tell her upsetting things on a public phone. He would call her on his cell. But he didn’t know her number! He had no choice but to call her when she got home from work. It would be easy to find her number in the phone book.

He would not have to wait long. Overwhelmed by a premonition that something bad was about to happen, he stopped the car at a park near Mary’s apartment building which seemed to be wrapped in semidarkness. Not much electric light penetrated the thick leaves of the trees. Kreshnik got out of the car. He wanted to sit someplace where he could wait until midnight when Mary would get home from work. Then he would call her.

At that moment, Kreshnik saw a car stop along a nearby sidewalk. He remembered a similar car had stopped close to him when he had wanted to go into the police station. He suspected Max Cooper had asked someone to follow him since he had indicated he might turn himself in.

Therefore, he got up, went farther into the park, and hid behind a tree. Pedro’s shadow approached him. He had just called Max to tell him of Kreshnik’s whereabouts, and Max had ordered him to stay close to him.

Pedro gripped the revolver with silencer and the knife which he carried in the pockets of his leather jacket. Which one of the two weapons should he use? His revolver? To his surprise, Kreshnik disappeared from view. Pedro guessed he was hiding somewhere, and he was right.

Kreshnik stayed behind the tree. He heard soft footsteps, turned his head toward the sound, and amid the creepy, dark silhouettes, he saw the shadow of a stocky man with a revolver. He looked around as he came toward Kreshnik. Kreshnik saw the silencer’s long barrel. Obviously, the man wanted to kill someone and escape without a sound. Maybe he wanted to kill Kreshnik. Kreshnik shuddered and wanted to pull out his revolver, but it didn’t have a silencer. If he shot the man, passersby or even police officers, hearing the gunfire, might come to investigate.

The man came closer and pointed his revolver at the tree. Kreshnik thought it best to hide behind a bush, cover his tracks, and disappear from there just as he had disappeared from Eric Torres. But his legs got caught in some fallen tree branches, and their sound gave him away. The stocky man with the revolver rushed toward him.

Death took the form of that revolver with its threatening gleam. Kreshnik heard a dry, muffled crack, and a bullet whizzed past his head. He did not have time to take out his revolver, but he managed to grab the long barrel of the stocky man’s gun, which was now pointed at his chest, and wrenched it from his hand. The gun fell to the ground. With his other hand, Kreshnik punched the stocky man in the jaw. He groaned in pain and teetered, but did not fall. When Kreshnik tried to strike him again, the man was able to escape his grip. Afterwards, he took his knife out of the other pocket of his leather jacket in order to attack Kreshnik, but his attempts failed. Then Kreshnik felt the blade of the knife brush past his throat. One minute more and it would penetrate his throat. He would lie there dead and forgotten until his corpse was discovered the next morning, maybe even later, by someone in the park.

He had avoided capture by the police countless times and had finally decided to turn himself in. He would go to prison for many years. Now he had fallen prey to the stocky man who demanded nothing less than his life. Kreshnik never imagined he would die this way.

In those few seconds, hovering between life and death, he found the strength to grab the knife away from the stocky man with his ghostly face. In the process, it hit the upper part of one of his shoulders and broke the skin. Still, he managed to push the man, kick him in the stomach, and hit him in the jaw a second time despite his sharp pain. The man dropped the knife and fell to the ground. Then Kreshnik threw himself on top of him.

“Speak, you carrion!” he threatened impetuously as he squeezed his throat. “Who sent you to kill me? Max and Dolores?”

The stocky man refused to answer, but when Kreshnik tightened his grip on the man’s throat, and it became difficult for him to breathe, he drooled and sputtered, but managed a “Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Pedro Oliveira.”

Suddenly, a wild fury overtook Kreshnik. He could have killed Pedro, but instead, he got to his feet and kicked him wherever he could. He stopped attacking him, though, when he realized he could kill him. He grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, lifted him to his feet, and keeping his trembling hands on him, threatened, “Get out of here. You tell Max Cooper and his whore they will be hearing from me.”

With those words, Kreshnik pushed Pedro one last time. He almost fell but managed to steady himself. Then, after he had looked around to ensure Kreshnik wasn’t following him with the intention of killing him, he staggered out of the park, headed for his car, and drove off into the night.

Kreshnik squinted, searched for the knife, and soon found it next to the bench where he had been sitting. He also found the gun. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped the weapons in it, taking care not to wipe away any prints. Then he put the knife and gun back in the pocket of his leather jacket. He would use them in court as evidence of Max Cooper’s intent to have him murdered for his refusal to submit to him any longer.

Everything that had happened felt like a nightmare. Kreshnik was shaking and could barely breathe. He didn’t know how he had managed to grab Pedro’s hand as the murderous knife’s blade touched him.

He decided that in his condition, he could not wait for Mary. Although it was night, a driver or a pedestrian would get suspicious at the sight of him, swaying and holding his bloody arm. His pale face would look even more terrifying in the faint light of the street lamps. So without a second thought, he headed for his car and hurried home. Thankfully, no one was in the park at that late hour. Only the trees with their thick leaves and the deaf and blind silence of the night had witnessed his brutal fight to the death with Pedro.

On his way home, Kreshnik felt sharp pangs in his shoulder, and blood trickled down the left sleeve of his jacket as a result of his knife wound. In order not to draw the attention of James, who usually stayed in the living room, he cautiously opened the door, tiptoed into the hallway, and went to his room. Once there, he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve. To his relief, he only had a small cut on his shoulder. He bandaged it as best he could with a strip of gauze and put on another shirt. He did not want Mary to see it.

Suddenly, Kreshnik remembered that he was supposed to call her. It was just past eleven.

Pedro tried to drive his car, but he could hardly see. One eye was swollen, and the eyebrows above his other eye continued to bleed. He swerved to one side, scaring the few drivers on the road, and went up a curb beyond which he could barely make out a nightclub. Stunned, he tried in vain to turn around and get back on the road.

Pedro grew wide-eyed with fear when his car struck the front end of another car. He moved out of the way, but because he was driving so fast, he collided with the outer wall of the nightclub. The noise drowned out the songs which blared from inside.

Meanwhile, Max was on the phone with Pedro and asked him what was happening. When he heard a commotion, he shouted, “What is all that noise?”

When Pedro did not respond, Max, frightened, turned to Dolores.

“What’s going on?” she asked. She was scared, too.

“I can’t hear Pedro at all. From the noise and voices, it sounds like he had an accident.”

“Did he die?”

“Where have you been? He killed Kreshnik and died in an accident. He will carry our secrets to the grave.”

“But what if he died without having killed Kreshnik?” asked Dolores, flatly.

“Then we’ll find another Pedro to do the job.”

Max smiled, but his smile froze on his face.

“Oh, God! What am I hearing?” he stammered, holding the phone tighter to his ear. “It sounds like the police are there!”

An officer looked at Pedro whose head hung to one side. The pressure of the collision had turned the front of the car and the motor upside-down. The steering wheel pressed against Pedro’s chest. Under such circumstances, an airbag usually protected a person from harm, but in this case, Pedro was stuck between it and his seat.

He just moaned when the officer and two of his colleagues touched and shook him. It was impossible to pull him out of the car.

“Call the emergency room!” ordered the officer who continued to observe Pedro, who was more dead than alive. Turning to him, the officer asked, “How do you feel, Sir?”

Pedro’s eyes were closed. He did not answer.

Then the officer carefully lifted his head, and he opened his eyes a little.

“Sir, my name is Robbie. I’m a police officer. Can you tell me why you lost control of your car?”

The officer’s question bothered Pedro.

“My name is Pedro Oliveira,” he said, weakly. “Don’t let me die. I have many things to tell you. My boss, Max Cooper, ordered me to kill Kreshnik Germeni. Max owns a furniture company, but he is also involved in drug trafficking.”

Pedro could hardly breathe.

“He forced me to commit this crime,” he continued, “but I couldn’t because Kreshnik put me in this condition. He did the right thing. I got in my car but could not drive. That’s all I can tell you for now. Please save me! Don’t let me die!”

Max kept his cell phone to his ear. He had heard Pedro’s conversation with the officer over his cell which had fallen near the car door. His eyes grew wide, and he shouted, “Dolores, Pedro really did have an accident! He’s dying. But the jerk told the police everything! He didn’t kill Nik, but he’s going to kill us!”

“What do you mean he’s going to kill us?” Dolores asked, practically fainting.

“He told the officer everything, how I ordered Kreshnik’s murder, that I’m a drug boss. We need to get out of here before the police catch us.”

Max grabbed Dolores’ arm, and the two of them left his office.

“There are still some packets of drugs in the cellar,” Max muttered.

“We’re in a heap of trouble, and you’re worried about some stupid packets of drugs!” Dolores threatened, grabbing his arm.

They ran out of the office, down the stairs, and through the company’s large hall in which the furniture had been placed. Then they hurried to their car and disappeared into the night.

Mary had returned home from the hospital. During her shift, she had felt overwhelmed not only by the events of the previous evening, but also by Charlie’s phone call that morning. Seeing Kreshnik in the hospital seemed to have troubled him. In addition, Mary’s trip to the hospital to see Kreshnik, her surprise at his escape, and her crazy decision to go to his house, something she never dreamed she’d do again, had weighed her down. Now, she just wanted to sleep.

Suddenly, the telephone rang. Who could be calling her so late? Charlie always called her on his cell phone. Somebody had probably dialed a wrong number. Mary slowly lifted the receiver and nearly froze when she heard Kreshnik’s voice. She wanted to ask him why he was calling so late, but he pleaded with her to listen because he had some terrible things to tell her. He didn’t mention that she, too, was in danger and that Max and another Pedro might kill her. That would only have frightened her. Instead, he told her about the unexpected job Max had given him. Kreshnik said it would be his last no matter what.

“But I’m not going to do it, Mary,” he said. “I don’t want to be a slave to Max anymore. Above all, I don’t want you to suffer because of him. Therefore, I want to turn myself in. I’ve told you about this issue which has haunted me for years. The time has come to do it.”

Mary could hardly keep from collapsing on the floor. (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, Part-24, Part-25, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32, Part-33, Part-34, Part-35, Part-36, Part-37, 

________________

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]

The post Novel: A Woman between Two Men – Part-38 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Kreshnik was about to stand up and lash out at James who crouched like a wet chicken on the sofa. “Oh, James, you drunk, how could you tie me up with that disgusting man!” he wanted to shout. But he reconsidered when he remembered Max’s order on the night he had told him the terrible truth. He could not blame James for he, too, was one of Max’s victims.

“I guess Max Cooper called you,” James said in order to change the subject.

“Apparently, he’s sending me to some city with that deadly poison just when Mary urged me to get away from that stuff. You’ve seen that the police are conducting raids.”

“Yes. I haven’t told you this, but I’ve been watching the news, too, with much fear and trepidation. May God help us escape from the man who has tied a noose around your neck and will not let you go.”

Kreshnik sighed and looked at his watch. It took a little more than an hour to get to Max Cooper’s office. Still, he did not want to stay at home. He decided to go out for a coffee.

Kreshnik explained to Max that he had fallen and hit his head. Max told him he was grateful he hadn’t sustained a more serious injury. Then he said, “I told you you would make two or three more drug runs to pay off James’ debt. Then you will be free to do as you wish.”

With these words, he rose from the table, approached Kreshnik, and said in a sugary-sweet voice, which to Kreshnik sounded spiteful, “This is the first one, a special one. You will return with a bag of money.”

Kreshnik knit his brow.

“I’m sorry, Boss, but I don’t believe you,” he said. “Do you remember the promise Constantine made to his mother concerning his sister, Doruntina, that even though she was married and lived far away from Albania, he would bring her home. You told me you really liked that story.”

Max smiled.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m still impressed that although Constantine died, he rose from the grave, and his gravestone became a horse he rode over the mountains. He picked up Doruntina, took her home, and told her to see her mother. Meanwhile, he returned to his grave. When Doruntina’s mother found out that Constantine had brought her home, she was terrified and told her that wasn’t possible since he had been dead for years. Doruntina and her mother burst with happiness. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes. You see, even though he was dead, Constantine kept his word.”

“You also told me an Albanian proverb, Nik. `May your teeth fall where you planted your feet.` It’s the same with our work.”

Max chuckled.

“Please, give the job to someone else,” said Kreshnik, annoyed with Max’s ramblings.

Max expected his suggestion.

“This assignment is complicated and dangerous. When you ran into trouble before, your cleverness and courage saved us. So please do this run. Then we’ll see. At midnight, you will leave for Santa Monica in a motorcycle just like when you went to Long Beach. I repeat, a bag of money awaits you.”

“Thank you again for the money, but please don’t make me go tonight.”

“He’s asking me to set him free,” Max said to himself. He felt the time had come to attack.

“It looks like your heart’s desire is saving her money for you if she hasn’t paid you already for your services. After all, you are a man.”

Max fixed his gaze on Kreshnik and was silent. His comments about Mary surprised and offended him. His face turned pale.

“That’s not all,” he continued. “She stuck her nose in our business and distracted you. She calls your money ill-gotten gain. That’s the truth, isn’t it? Don’t say no. I know everything.”

Suddenly, a thought flashed through Kreshnik’s mind.

“Dolores! She concocted this plan.”

Max sensed his attack was bringing Kreshnik to his knees.

“I didn’t want to bring it up because it’s your business,” he said, “but when I tell you plainly this is one of two or three more jobs, and you say, `I don’t care about the money,` I have no choice but to suspect that a woman named Mary Davenport is the cause of your stubbornness. Why, she’s engaged to a scientist!”

“She has nothing to do with it!” shouted Kreshnik in response to Max’s disdainful remarks about Mary.

“You and she had a midnight rendezvous at a cafe,” Max continued. “Then she took you home. There you kissed. Then you took her into your arms and carried her inside. Only you two know what happened next. She probably treated that cut on your forehead when you were in the hospital. She even came to your house this morning.”

Suppositions flashed through Kreshnik’s mind while Max interrogated him like a prisoner. He vaguely remembered having seen a stocky man in a leather jacket when he and Mary went to the cafe. He had also seen him in that cafe when he had talked to Petrit before he turned himself in to the police.

He had seen a similar man at the police station. He had also seen the stocky man in front of his house when he and Mary were there together. Who else but Dolores would have asked him to follow Kreshnik?

Max paced the room a little. Then he sat next to Kreshnik, lit a cigarette, and offered him the pack.

“I know you quit smoking, but light one for me.”

Kreshnik did so.

“How about a glass of whisky?”

Max stood up.

“I gave that up, too.”

“You did the right thing,” said Max, “considering our line of work.”

Then, as if he were fortifying himself for what he was about to tell Kreshnik, he took a long drag on his cigarette, came even closer to him, as if to forgive him, then said, “You know we took a break during the winter. Not because we wanted to but out of necessity. The police are constantly on our tail. Thousands of dollars have slipped through our fingers. You’ve lost out, too. Let’s take advantage of the calm. Maybe it’s a trap. Will you leave at midnight tonight?”

Kreshnik did not respond immediately.

“Even though the cut on my head still bothers me, I will make this run. Then let me live my life and mind my own business. I won’t get involved with anyone.”

After he spoke, Kreshnik looked Max straight in the eye as if he were begging him for mercy.

“Do you think I’ll report you to the police?” he asked when Max did not respond. “I swear I won’t.”

Max wrinkled his forehead and took another puff of his cigarette. For a moment, he did not speak.

“We’ve talked about this, Nik,” Max threatened. “You can report me to the police, and they can throw me in prison. But don’t forget my friends, including your adoptive father, James, who are obligated to me, will get their revenge. They’ll go after you first. They’ll kill you. Then they’ll go after James and other relatives even if they’re in Albania.”

Max’s face looked beastly, and his eyes opened wide. Kreshnik shuddered.

“Mary Davenport, the beauty who drove you wild, will be next. I could get rid of her right now if I wanted to. That’s how we settle accounts. Whoever betrays us pays the price!”

Max was silent. For a moment, he seemed to mull something over. Then Kreshnik noticed how, like an actor, he smiled and made himself look like a nice old man.

“I’m sorry I said those things,” he said, licking his dirty lips. “But you are indebted to me. So finish this job. I give you my word of honor: this will be your last one.”

“`The last one`. Kreshnik said to himself. “How many times will he sing that song?”

“I’m sorry, too, Boss,” said Kreshnik. He, too, played Max’s role. “I lashed out at you, the man who is at my adoptive father, James’, side. Once again, I apologize.”

Kreshnik tried to look as sorrowful as possible.

“How do I get to Santa Monica?” he asked in order to end this heart-breaking conversation.

His confession and penitent tone stunned Max who supposed he was playing his role from a few minutes earlier. He realized Kreshnik was trying to distract him in order to gain time to carry out a plan that was taking shape in his mind.

Max rose from his chair, took a map off the table, sat next to Kreshnik again, and opened it on his lap.

Kreshnik descended the stairs and saw Dolores talking to someone in her office doorway. Actually, she pretended to talk to someone, and once in awhile, she glanced at Kreshnik. She looked lovely. She wore blue pants and a white jacket and had her hair pulled back. But her disgusting smile repulsed Kreshnik more than ever. Still, he tried to smile when she greeted him.

She looked at him begrudgingly, ran to Max’s office, and entered without knocking.

Max was talking on the phone with his back to the door, but turned around when he noticed someone had come in, unannounced. He flashed his threatening eyes, but when he saw it was Dolores, he calmed down and continued his conversation.

“So, Pedro, follow Nik closely. Then when the time is right, do as we discussed. Be careful, and don’t let anyone see you. As promised, your reward will be great.”

He hung up the phone, and a devilish smile played on his face.

“You decided the time had come?” asked Dolores, fluttering her eyelids with pleasure.

Max nodded.

“You were right,” he said. “That Mary put a spell on him. He refused to take this job, just as you had predicted. When I told him what Pedro had told you, and when I explained what would happen if he refused to accept this job, he seemed to change his mind. The poor man thought he could fool me. After I showed him on the map where he would take the drugs, I invited him to stay with me until it was time to leave. But he said he had somewhere else to go. I didn’t prolong the subject, but I was convinced he was lying. I’m sure if not tonight, then tomorrow morning, he will go to the police. Therefore, as you yourself heard, I gave Pedro the job.”

Dolores breathed a sigh of relief.

“At last we’ll be rid of him,” she said.

Then, she walked over to Max, wrapped her plump arms around him, and kissed him on the lips.

“We have to be prepared,” she continued. “Ralph Kallagan’s men haven’t suspected anything until now. But they work undercover. Therefore, to be safe, I’ll hide some of the packets of drugs which we would have given to Nik to take to Santa Monica in the car. San Diego is a hop, skip, and a jump from the Mexican border. I have enough money in the bank in Mexico for us to live like kings wherever we wish.”

Dolores embraced Max a second time.

“Why is she so angry with Kreshnik?” he asked himself. “What did he do to her? Or did Dolores seduce him and he wasn’t interested?”

“Do you really hate Nik because he spurned your advances that afternoon at the club in Del Mar Beach?” Max asked.

“No, I hate him now because of his obstinacy toward you. He wants to destroy us.”

On the surface, that was true. Still, Max recalled that in the few meetings when Kreshnik was present, Dolores had sneaked some cajoling looks at him. Had she loved that handsome young man and now, offended by his attitude toward her, did she tremble with excitement at the thought of him suffering that dreaded fate? Maybe. As soon as he could, Max would demand a reckoning. Although Dolores feigned warmth when she embraced and kissed him, Max realized she did not love him.

With his mind in a whirl, Kreshnik left Max’s office. He did not know what to do. He did not realize the man who had followed him in the past was following him now at a distance. He did not know his name was Pedro.

Right then and there, he decided to do what he had discussed with James and Mary, the thing that had gnawed at his heart and soul: he decided to turn himself in. He headed for the police station where he had gone once before. He stopped near the station. Perhaps he would see the officer with whom he had spoken that night. But this time, he would not tell him he was sick and needed help. He would simply raise his hands so the officer could cuff him.

“But what about Mary?” an inner voice seemed to say. “What will become of her?”

Kreshnik imagined her stabbed to death with a knife, shot with a revolver, or blown up by a bomb. It was a different story with James. He was old, but he was also strong and could confront any bad guy.

Kreshnik turned around and drove in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, Pedro informed Max of Kreshnik’s every move.

“The fact he didn’t go to the police station means he doesn’t intend to turn himself in,” Dolores said to Max.

“I hope you’re right,” he said. “Otherwise, you know what Pedro will do when he sees him.”

First, Kreshnik would go to the hospital to warn Mary of their imminent danger. Then, he would turn himself in, and the police would initiate an operation to catch Max and his gang.

Kreshnik parked in the parking lot of the San Diego Medical Center and was shocked when he looked at his watch. It was only 10:30. Mary’s shift didn’t end until 11:00. Kreshnik could wait for her and they could leave together. He was frozen in place. What if he encountered the doctor who was supposed to have examined him? He would scold him for having disappeared from the hospital without a trace. Or what if Charlie came to get Mary, as he had the previous night, and saw the two of them together? That would be awful!

“Sir, may I help you?” said a voice behind Kreshnik.

He turned and saw a hospital security guard.

“You look sick, Sir.”

The guard was about to radio the trauma unit.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Kreshnik, heading toward his car and leaving the security guard in shock.

In the meantime, Max and Pedro stayed connected via cell phone. Max was surprised when Pedro told him Kreshnik had stopped in front of the hospital.

“Did you forget that Mary Davenport works there?” Dolores taunted him, tickling his mustache.

“Yes, Dear,” he replied, mocking her.

“She will leave work as usual at eleven and expects to make love with him,” said Dolores. “It will be the last time.”

She laughed.

But after a few minutes, Pedro told Max that Kreshnik had left the hospital.

“Maybe he’s afraid he’ll run into that scientist, Mary’s fiancée,” said Max.

“That would be quite a scene!” said Dolores.

The two of them burst out laughing. (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, Part-24, Part-25, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32, Part-33, Part-34, Part-35, Part-36, 

___________

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]

The post Novel: A Woman between Two Men – Part-37 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Chapter XII

Shuffling her feet, Mary entered Kreshnik’s house. Through the half-open living room door, she saw James sleeping on the sofa and wondered if Kreshnik was sleeping, too. She stood in front of his bedroom door and felt as if someone had hit her in the head with a hammer. Soon she would marry Charlie so why did she want to see the man who once and for all … That cursed phrase again. She did not pursue the thought. She was meeting him at his house, in his bedroom. When she pressed down on the door handle to open it, she let it go as if it were red hot and turned to leave. But in her haste, she almost fell. She leaned against the wall and was about to leave when she heard the door open. Kreshnik stood before her, his head still bandaged.

The two remained frozen in place for a moment. Mary was frightened and Kreshnik felt faint. He did not have the courage to face her. He thought Mary had come upstairs but had changed her mind and was about to go away. If he had not heard footsteps and had not opened the door, he would never have known she had come. There she stood, face to face with him, unsure as to whether or not she had done the right thing to come to his house. He felt conflicted, too. At the entrance to his house and in the hospital bed, it had been Mary who had kissed him. She had made all the decisions. If she had wanted to, she could have left right then and there, and he would not have been in a position to stop her.

But when Mary saw how weak and pale he was and how thin his face had become, she took a shaky step forward, but then she felt weak and almost fainted. Oddly enough, the short distance between her and Kreshnik increased to the point that Mary thought she would never reach him.

But then Kreshnik came to her, reached his arms out to her, lifted her up, and did what Charlie had not done. He carried her to the bed and undressed her. When she was with Charlie, she had to undress herself. Kreshnik laid Mary under the same white covers which had preserved the aroma of their bodies which now embraced once more.

They did not speak. There was no need for words. Their faces, lips, and eyes said everything. Kreshnik could read Mary’s dilemmas: to see him or not to see him. Should she end her relationship with him to be Charlie’s forever?

Mary could sense the deep, searing pain she had caused Kreshnik, a pain that only worsened with time just as Prometheus’ pain increased when, during the day, the eagle cut his liver which grew during the night.

Later, Mary, her eyes aflame, pleaded with Kreshnik to do everything in his power to quit the drug business. She told him that whenever possible, she watched TV, listened to the radio, and read the newspaper to stay informed. She also told him she had breathed a sigh of relief that he was not among those arrested. Kreshnik rubbed Mary’s head and promised her he would soon get out of the drug trade. He couldn’t stand Max Cooper who had turned him into a criminal. Therefore, he decided to turn himself into the police.

Mary and Kreshnik stayed in bed a little while longer, faced each other, and gazed into each other’s eyes. They had flown through the paradise of love and were now returning to earth where they had to face their harsh reality.

“So, you came to see me about the incident last night?” Kreshnik asked.

“Yes, I did. But I’ll ask you again, why did you leave the hospital?”

Kreshnik was silent.

“Did you hear what Charlie said last night?”

“Yes, and he was right.”

“But he insulted you!”

“Yes, but he was right. That’s why I left the hospital. His words hurt me deeply, and they still do. I also left so I wouldn’t have to see you.”

He withdrew into himself like the guilty person he was. Mary felt more guilty than Kreshnik.

“Mary, I don’t have the right to deprive Charlie of his happiness. I’m nothing like him! I am a slave to drugs. I trafficked them until a few days ago. As I told you, I had drugs on me the night the police broke up a drug trafficking ring.”

“I saw that on TV,” said Mary, on the verge of sobs. “And I prayed, as I have many times before, that the police hadn’t caught you.”

The time came for Mary and Kreshnik to say good-bye. This time, Mary did not leave him as he slept nor did she write him a note about the death of their love. This time, she reminded him that she had committed a crime against Charlie and herself which was much more serious than her previous one. For if, the previous time, she had gone to Kreshnik’s room by chance when she had taken him home, this time she had come on purpose. That was unforgivable!

Burying the torment and sorrow of separation, Mary threw her arms around Kreshnik’s neck and kept them there for a few moments. Kreshnik, too, hid his sorrow. Finally, Mary turned and disappeared like a cloud that disappears without a trace in the night sky.

She could not hold back the tears as she drove to the hospital. They fell from her swollen eyes which fogged up like glass after a rainstorm. She felt she needed to cry in order to free herself from the weight of her crime. She felt she had gotten her revenge with Charlie who had poured out his bitterness toward Kreshnik right in front of her.

Mary wanted to call Charlie and ask him to leave work. She, too, wanted to call in sick. She wanted the two of them to stay at his apartment. She needed to be with him and sleep with him because her soul felt empty.

But after she dialed the first few digits of his phone number, she hung up. How could she do such a thing just a few hours after she had been in the arms of someone whom Charlie hated and after she had given herself to him with ardent desire? Was there any greater hypocrisy?!

Mary decided to go to Wilma’s. She would have more than an hour to talk to her about her problems.

When Wilma heard Mary’s flat voice and saw her thoughtless glances, she did not want to believe her anxious words. She seemed delirious.

“If Kreshnik hadn’t quarreled with James, his adoptive father, and if he hadn’t fallen and hit his head, I wouldn’t have seen him anymore. I hadn’t seen him for weeks. If I hadn’t seen him, the things I told you about wouldn’t have happened,” wailed Mary.

“That’s not true, Mary,” said Wilma, sharply. “If you truly didn’t want to see him, you would not have had any reason to go to his house in the ambulance when James called you. Someone else would have gone there and would have treated him. Thus, you would never have seen him again. Isn’t that right?”

Mary nodded, as if caught in the act for she, too, had considered these possibilities.

“In that case, you would not have stayed with him, bent over him, and kissed him, right?”

Again, Mary nodded.

“But you went. And who forced you to go to the hospital the next morning to see him when the doctor, as you yourself told me, said he was fit as a fiddle and would not be there the next day? Come on, admit it. You acted foolishly. And who made you go to his house? Not only did you go there. You made love with him again.”

Mary gasped and lowered her head like a sinner.

“Mary, those things happened because you loved Nik. You still do and always will. You can’t deny that.”

“No,” Mary managed to say. “You’re exactly right.”

“You have two men in your life. The time has come to choose one of them. You’ve only been away from Kreshnik for a few hours and tonight after work, you will go to bed with Charlie. You will think of Nik while you’re with Charlie. You can’t go on like that.”

Wilma wanted to say more, but no sound emerged from her half-open mouth.

A few minutes earlier, while reliving her meeting with Kreshnik, Mary had said to herself, “Is there any greater hypocrisy?!” Wilma probably wanted to add, “Is there any greater humiliation?!”

Mary shivered as she imagined Wilma’s cold voice.

“I’ve ended my relationship with Kreshnik,” she said, overwhelmed.

“Have Mary and Kreshnik really ended their relationship?” Wilma asked herself.

Night had fallen. Kreshnik paced the living room, thrown for a loop by the sudden turn of events. Had Mary been in his room until a few minutes ago or hadn’t she? Had Kreshnik vaguely remembered a dream? This time, Mary had disappeared without a trace. She had not left a note or lock of hair like the previous time. She had flown away like a bird that leaves its mother’s nest for good.

Kreshnik did not hear James come in. He looked solemn with his white, disheveled hair.

“I saw her leave,” he said with a flat, somber voice. “She left and probably won’t come back. Her lover won’t leave her. I saw his devotion to her when he came to the hospital last night. When they left, Mary walked behind him as if she were his slave. I may have been imagining it, but the fact she treated your wound seemed to bother him.”

“That’s true, but don’t forget he and Mary will soon be married,” said Kreshnik.

“Well said. `They will soon be married.` But you could be Mary’s husband. She loves you so much that she came here of her own volition, and you spent hours together in your bed.”

After a brief pause, he confessed, “I hurt and offended the woman who truly loves you. You would be hard pressed to find another like her. Last night, through the half open door, I saw how she stayed with you. She stayed with me, too, when I was in the hospital. But with you, the circumstances were different. She wasn’t afraid to kiss you. I guarded her. After all, another nurse could have come in and caught you unawares. Thank God you stayed across from each other like wise birds when Mary’s fiancee marched in for who knows what he might have cooked up?”

James’ withered face glowed faintly, and his eyes took on a dreamy look.

“And when she dared to come here today,” he continued, “That meant no earthly power could keep you apart.”

“Everything comes and goes, James,” sighed Kreshnik and closed his eyes in pain. “She’s not coming back. I know I am hindering her relationship with Charlie. He blew up at me last night. But if he discovered the truth, perhaps he would have the right to kill me on the spot.”

“That runt only knows about science, not about guns. He’d be so scared to use a gun he’d poop his pants.”

“When it comes to a woman, a man can kill without a gun.”

Just as he finished speaking, Kreshnik’s cell phone rang. He answered it without looking to see who was calling him. He grew somber when he heard Dolores’ voice.

“Hey, Nik,” she said in a mocking tone. “You and your darling were probably on your honeymoon. But Max requested you come to his office tonight at nine. He has something important to tell you.”

Kreshnik fainted.

“Hey, Nik, did you hear me?” Dolores’ voice sounded sharp in his ear.

“Yes,” said Kreshnik, mechanically, as if he had just awakened from a scary dream. “Tell the boss I’ll be there.”

Dolores hung up.

Kreshnik groaned and collapsed into a chair near the table. James could only imagine what he was thinking. He was cursing himself and Max Cooper. (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, Part-24, Part-25, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32, Part-33, Part-34, Part-35, 

__________________

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]

The post Novel: A Woman between Two Men – Part-36 first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Kreshnik had reached the end of his rope. He jerked upright, his eyes aflame, as if he were delirious, rushed toward James, and grabbed him by the throat. Taken aback by this unexpected attack, James pushed Kreshnik who lost his balance, fell, and hit his head on the edge of the table. When James saw him sprawled out on the floor, almost breathless, and with a deep gash on his forehead, he walked over to him, bent over him, and panicked for he thought Kreshnik was seriously hurt. He screamed, ran to the telephone, and did what Kreshnik had done when he had been intoxicated and had fallen off a ladder while repairing the roof. He knew 911 was the number to call in an emergency, and the dispatcher would send an ambulance to the house as had happened when James broke his leg. But James did not call 911, maybe because he didn’t trust the paramedics or thought they might be delayed. Instead, he called the hospital trauma ward where Mary worked and asked to speak to her. He believed she would give Kreshnik the same care she had given him. Who better than Mary to take care of Kreshnik? She had loved him and left him, not necessarily because she wanted to, but because she belonged to another. Maybe she hadn’t forgotten Kreshnik. Maybe James shouldn’t have tormented Kreshnik and insulted Mary. Maybe she wasn’t a wench.

After a brief pause, Mary came on the line.

“How may I help you, Sir?”

“Mary, my name is James Clemens. I’m sure you remember me. You took care of me a few months ago.”

“Yes, Sir, I remember you, but how may I help you?” she asked, almost mechanically. She sensed something awful when she heard James’ trembling voice. “Has something happened to you?”

“Not to me, but to Nik,” said James with tears in his eyes. “He got dizzy and hit his head on the table. Now he’s lying on the floor and doesn’t appear to be breathing. God forbid, if something should happen to him. Please, please come as soon as you can. Please, Mary!”

Mary heard the old man’s sobs. She had gotten to know him when she had treated him at the hospital. She hung up the phone, clenched her lips to suppress a scream, and ran to the information office, unaware of what she muttered about the incident. She soon found herself in the ambulance with two other nurses and felt as if she were in a fog.

The driver held a piece of paper with the unfamiliar address. Mary gave him directions to the house she would not soon forget. What had happened to Kreshnik? Perhaps he had suffered a brain injury. God forbid! Mary did not want to think such a dreadful thought. She wanted to get there as quickly as possible. She wanted to see Kreshnik who had been unshaven, somber, and rough when she had first met him. He had fumed because the man she believed was his father had not gotten the help he needed. Now she was coming to take Kreshnik to the hospital, not because of a broken leg, but because of something else, perhaps more serious. Her attempt to drive Kreshnik from her mind had only increased her longing for him. She felt that longing as she got out of the car and ran up the stairs with James in tow, almost delirious. Kreshnik lay unconscious on his bedroom floor with a cut on his forehead. He was not the same Kreshnik of that magical night. Death haunted him like a ghost. Mary became hysterical when she saw him.

She approached him, bent over him, and touched his cheek, head, and chest with her burning hands. She was relieved to discover that although his breathing was labored, Kreshnik was alive.

“I don’t think he has a brain injury,” said the other nurse, who walked over to Mary so that he, too, could see Kreshnik. “But the scans will provide a clearer picture of what happened.”

Mary and the other nurses put a mask on Kreshnik, gave him oxygen, lifted him onto a stretcher, and put him in the ambulance. James gave Mary a look to indicate he wanted her to wait a moment. When they were alone, he said through his tears, “It was my fault. But what can you do? That’s the way I am.”

He shook his head between gasps and gave Mary a pleading look.

“Why? What happened?” she asked, burning with curiosity.

“May love not strike anyone’s head as it struck my Nik,” said James, his gaze fixed on Mary. “I told him that since you left him, he should stay away from you. He tried to shut me up. I don’t know how it happened, but I pushed him, and you know the rest. Put me in prison for a hundred years. I deserve it!”

He burst into tears again.

“How he suffers for you, my Dear,” he whispered, as if he were afraid the others would hear him as they went down the stairs. “Every night, he lays here deep in thought.”

Only then did Mary turn her head. She felt overwhelmed when she thought about what had happened that night in that bed, the silent witness of a dead dream.

“That’s not all. He keeps a lock of your hair as a talisman,” James continued.

He took a book from the dresser, opened it, took out the lock of hair, and lifted it up so Mary could see it.

Mary felt a lump in her throat but kept her composure.

“I don’t know how things will go for my Nik.”

James’ eyes glistened.

The sound of the ambulance’s siren startled Mary. She motioned to James to follow her down the stairs. Then, they got into the ambulance and hurried to the hospital.

The doctor, a plump man with a mustache, examined Kreshnik’s scan carefully.

“He hit his head hard, but he did not sustain a brain injury,” he explained. “Tomorrow around noon, if he has regained consciousness, he can go home.”

Mary, who had stayed with him, cried out with joy and went out in the hall to tell James the news. He broke down and threw his arms around her neck.

“I will tend to his wound. I will stay with him. He will perk up by tomorrow,” said Mary.

“God bless you, my girl,” said James, crossing himself. “May I wait here?”

“Why do you want to do that?”

“I owe it to Kreshnik. If you remember, Nik stayed here the night he ranted and raved at you.”

Mary smiled and headed for Kreshnik’s room where she would treat the cut on his forehead. He had regained consciousness but kept his eyes closed. Then, he slowly opened them, and in the light, he could make out the outline of Mary’s face. When he saw her, he wanted to raise his head. He couldn’t believe where and with whom he found himself. He almost cried out, but Mary put her hand on his mouth, smiled, and motioned for him to be quiet.

He closed his eyes again as if he were between reality and fantasy. When Mary squeezed his hand, he felt the same sensations he had felt that night in his bedroom.

Mary stayed with Kreshnik and treated his wound just as she had done that afternoon on a park bench in Del Mar Beach. He felt her hands on his forehead. Her chest jerked under her white apron, and he felt her breath. He could not believe such a miracle had happened. When she bent over him, and her lips touched his, he knew that kiss was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was a sign their love was blooming like spring flowers, freed from the weight of winter’s snow. Kreshnik and Mary started to cry, and their tears mingled on their cheeks which burned after their silent kisses just like they had that night in Kreshnik’s bedroom. Words were superfluous.

They did not realize that James had gotten up from where he had been sitting, tiptoed into Kreshnik’s room, slowly opened the door, and had seen Mary, bathed in tears, kissing and caressing him. That could only happen to a woman in love. Later, James had slowly closed the door and hurried back to his seat.

Mary quickly regained her composure, dried hers and Kreshnik’s tears, and continued to treat Kreshnik’s wound. She felt sad when she saw it was almost eleven and realized another nurse would soon replace her. She did not want to leave Kreshnik. She wanted the remaining two minutes to be two hours, two years, two centuries. As fate would have it, Mary’s colleague was late. She hoped that something had happened to her on the way to the hospital. She hoped she had gotten sick and wouldn’t be able to come to work. That way, she could stay with Kreshnik.

Several minutes passed, and fortunately the other nurse did not come. But then, the unthinkable happened. The door opened, and Charlie rushed in.

Mary couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw him. His hair was disheveled and fell around his glasses.

“Mary, did you forget I was picking you up?” he asked. “It’s twenty after eleven!”

Yes, Mary had forgotten. In those past few moments, Charlie, her future husband, had not existed. Mary did not want him there now. She was surprised he had managed to get in and come to Kreshnik’s room. Apparently, as in the past when Mary was delayed, he had been allowed to do so.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Mary barely managed to say, trying to appear as calm as possible. “But my colleague, who is supposed to replace me, has not arrived yet.”

“That’s all right,” said Charlie.

But when he saw Kreshnik lying in the bed, he turned pale.

“Isn’t this the drunkard who caused the scene at the restaurant? Isn’t this Kreshnik?” he asked, almost spitefully.

Mary nodded and motioned for him not to raise his voice. But Charlie said, harshly, “And you’re treating him?”

“Please, Darling. I’m treating an accident victim. I’m doing my job. I am required to treat everyone who comes to the hospital. Please understand,” she pleaded.

“Couldn’t somebody else treat him?”

She was about to reply when, fortunately, her replacement arrived. She apologized for her lateness.

Mary felt a deep pain in her heart as she left the room and couldn’t even look at Kreshnik. She left her robe in the nurses room, and after she grabbed her bag, she and Charlie headed out. After they passed James in the hall, he remained in shock.

Mary and Charlie left the hospital in silence as if they both held grudges which, in fact, they did. It was Mary who broke the cold silence.

“Charlie, what was that outburst about? And right in front of Kreshnik Germeni!”

Charlie realized he had behaved badly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I didn’t like it that you lavished so much attention on him. I hardly recognized him. He looks so different.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Charlie, whether I like it or not, I’m obligated to treat everyone who comes to the hospital, even my enemy. Why do you keep bringing up something that happened several months ago?”

Charlie did not answer immediately. Finally, he said, “It bothers me that you jumped to his defense when Ralph was ready to cuff him.”

“I told you then and I’m telling you now, maybe you’re jealous.”

Even Charlie didn’t know why he felt the way he did when he saw Mary look at Kreshnik with such tenderness as he lay in the bed. He had to admit Kreshnik looked much better with his short hair and trimmed beard. Still, Charlie had every right to be jealous while Mary had no right to speak of jealousy. Indeed, jealousy paled in comparison to betrayal. Mary had betrayed Charlie when she had bent over Kreshnik and gently kissed him on the lips. Someone might say it was just a kiss and nothing more. But Mary had also shed tears. Had she done so out of mere compassion? A few weeks earlier, she had left Kreshnik a “good-bye once and for all” note after she had given her body to him. How often would she utter that cursed phrase, “once and for all”, which, like an alter ego, wrestled with the word “never.”

The next morning, Mary was about to get out of bed when her cell phone rang. It was Charlie. After he greeted her, he said, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry about last night.”

“Don’t worry about it, Darling.”

“Also, I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much as I should be. I will finish this study in two or three weeks. Then we will get married and go to Honolulu. If that doesn’t meet with your approval, we’ll go where you want to.”

Mary heard the pleading in his voice.

“No, Charlie. If you don’t like Honolulu, we’ll go where you wish.”

“Thank you. Shall I pick you up tonight at the hospital?”

“No, Friday would be better.”

“You’re right. We’ll sleep late on Saturday morning. We have our Sunday routine.”

He laughed.

“We’ll make as much love as we can.”

“Yes, Charlie, we will make love.”

“You seem a little upset.”

“No, Dear. I’m not upset.”

“Well, then, good-bye, Darling.”

“Bye, Dear.”

Mary hung up the phone and sighed. Although she knew Kreshnik was out of danger, she still called the trauma ward. The nurse who had taken over for her answered the phone. Mary asked her how Kreshnik was feeling. She said he had not had any problems and was now sleeping.

Although she wished otherwise, Mary could not rid her mind of Kreshnik. According to the doctor, he would not be in the hospital for more than twenty-four hours. He would likely not be there when Mary went to work at three. So she decided to go earlier. She had every right to do so since he had been her patient. She had had a difficult night after her conversation with Charlie, but once she took a shower, she felt less tired.

As she drove to the hospital, she hoped that after examining Kreshnik, the doctor would decide he needed to stay a few more days. That way, Mary could be with him.

Kreshnik was lying in bed. Although he had been out of it the previous night, with his eyes half-closed, he had heard Mary’s and Charlie’s conversation. He had heard Charlie’s degrading words, “the drunkard who caused that scene in front of the restaurant”. He could imagine how much Charlie hated him. His thoughts mirrored Mary’s. If Charlie knew his fiancee had not only kissed Kreshnik a few minutes earlier but had also slept with him a few weeks ago?

Kreshnik had cursed himself and James for the senseless quarrel which had landed him in the hospital and brought him face to face with Mary again. That should not have happened. In any case, Mary’s kiss told Kreshnik how much she loved him, but Kreshnik knew she did not and should not belong to him.

In a few hours, she would be coming to work. Therefore, Kreshnik got out of bed. He felt a little dizzy, but only for a few minutes. He opened the door and looked out. The hallway was quiet. He ran to the closet and dressed quickly. It was about nine. His bandaged head would give him away. He looked out into the hallway a second time, then strolled down the hall so no one would notice him sneaking out of the hospital. At the end of the corridor, he saw a nurse talking to her friend so he turned to the right and went into a nearby bathroom. Someone occupied one of the stalls so he went into another one.

Meanwhile, Mary, overwhelmed by dark thoughts, arrived at the building where the trauma ward was located. She parked the car, got out, and looked at her watch. It was 10:10. She was not sure what to do. It was early. What would she do until 3:00 when her shift started? She screwed up her face and headed for the main door.

Meanwhile, Kreshnik had come out of the bathroom, walked down the hall, gotten on the elevator, and was headed for the ground floor. Suddenly, as he was getting off the elevator, he saw Mary coming from the opposite direction. He stole a quick glance at her, left the hospital, hailed the first taxi he saw, and gave the driver his address. When he turned his head, the hospital had disappeared from view.

Mary arrived at Kreshnik’s room. She stood still for a moment as if she regretted having gone there. Thinking Kreshnik was still sleeping, she slowly opened the door and nearly froze when she saw the empty bed. She went out into the hall and ran into the doctor with thick eyebrows who worked the morning shift. He seemed stressed.

“Doctor, what happened to that patient with the head wound?” she asked. “He was here last night when I left.”

“He acted crazy!” the doctor fumed. “He fled like a thief a few minutes ago. We looked for him everywhere, in the bathroom, the warehouse, the janitors room. Our only option now is to look for him in the nooks and crannies.”

“But why did he leave?” asked Mary, her eyes wide. “He should have waited until you had examined him to be sure he had recovered.”

“He has to sign a release form. He can’t just leave.”

The doctor shook his head, angrily.

“By the way, why did you come here so early?” he asked. “Are you covering for someone?”

“No. I came early because I thought I had forgotten something important I needed today,” Mary lied. “But now I remembered I left it at a friend’s house.”

The doctor was silent for a moment. Then, as if he had remembered something, he raised his thick eyebrows and fixed his gaze on Mary.

“Wait a minute! That crazy man is the son of the old man I saw leaving the hospital early this morning. It seems he was here a few months ago.”

“That’s right.”

“I think you know him well, Mary. I remember him talking to you when he came to see his father.”

Mary nodded.

The doctor’s eyes twinkled.

“Would you do me a favor? I don’t want any trouble because of this man’s escape.”

Mary looked at him with curiosity.

“We can’t solve this problem over the phone. Could you go to his house and convince him to come back to sign a document? Then he can go to the moon for all I care.”

“I’ll go right away,” said Mary, and her heart leaped out of her chest.

“Thank you. Don’t forget to get his address from the admittance book.”

“That won’t be necessary. I brought him here last night in the ambulance.”

“Very well,” said the doctor. (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, Part-24, Part-25, Part-26, Part-27, Part-28, Part-29, Part-30, Part-31, Part-32, Part-33, Part-34, 

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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]

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The post Novel: A Woman between Two Men – Part-35 first appeared on Sindh Courier.