The Telling Time : A Historical Family Saga Page 19

  ‘Kosta. What? What time is it?’ All she can manage is a whisper.

  He stumbles, knocking against her bed, and she wrenches the covers up closer to her chin, her eyes still trying to adjust.

  ‘Go! Get out!’ Her voice is stronger this time.

  His breathing sounds laboured, as though his mouth is set like a saw and each intake of air is rubbing against his sharp teeth. She’s crammed in the crease of the corner, her shoulders bridging the right angle.

  ‘Nikola. Bex?’ she calls out, her voice pitiful.

  She hoped by hearing their names it might bring Kosta to his senses but it’s as though he’s in a trance. A disgusting sound explodes from him. A guttural snort. Her instinct is to scream but she worries this might make him angry and instead clamps her mouth shut. She tries flattening herself further against the wall but the room has run out. Instead, she pulls her knees to her chest, hugging them. Kosta turns his head towards the door; a sudden movement. Oh God. Please let it be someone coming. Maybe it’s Bex, or his mother? Maybe someone has heard. He shambles back down the length of her bed then over towards the door.

  Now. You have to move now. She reaches for the knife under her pillow. The snap as she extends the blade coincides with the door clicking shut. Her mind is frantic, mapping out the route to the doorway. First step, crawl to the foot of the bed. Her throat feels dry. It’s now or never if she’s to get past him and out that door. Her eyes strain against the coal blackness as she crawls towards the foot of the bed, desperate not to make a sound. There’s a rustling sound and a metallic thud when something hits the floorboards. Luisa freezes before easing herself off the bed, heart pounding, certain that Kosta is standing close to the other bed.

  Luisa feels her way as the curtain fabric gives way to the wall. Her foot bumps one of the backpacks and she grips the knife tighter, blade pointed in front, searching with her free hand for the rear wall. It’s a relief to feel it against her palm, and she pauses for a moment, taking a breath, straining her ears. Keeping to the wall will be her best chance to skirt past and escape. With her back pressed close she shuffles, tiny steps, her other hand cutting at the air with the knife. His laboured breathing is closer now. It happens so quickly. She senses his movement, tries to duck to the side, shrieking when he catches her arm and jerks it upwards. The knife flips from her hand and clatters to the floor. Kosta has a vice-like hold but with her free arm Luisa swings wildly, using all her force. He manages to intercept this arm too, catching her forearm and tipping her off balance. In one motion he seems to wrench her forward then backwards onto the bed.

  ‘Kosta. No! No!’ she screams.

  Her heart drills her chest. Her mind won’t keep up. All those fearful nights walking home alone rolling into one. She tries to wrestle free but his fingernails dig into her shoulder, pushing her back. One hand closes around her leg, and all she can think of are his furry arms, that bear’s paw crushing her calf. He jostles her backwards. No! She refuses to be a limp rag doll. Fight! But she’s pinned flat on her back. She can feel his bare legs. The bulge of his penis. One leg is still free and she arches it, determined to find some leverage to kick, up, out, anywhere she can connect. It’s hopeless, she’s like a flimsy stick insect, flailing and Kosta has manoeuvred his body to lie on top of her, all his weight now pinning her lower half with her arms forced behind her head. Make him go away! But the screaming is only in her head, her voice paralysed because she’s run out of options.

  His face looms close and his cloying breath is a mix of alcohol, garlic and cigarette smoke. Luisa squirms and twists her head, this way and that, taking ownership of the one body part she can still move. His weight feels suffocating. Think! She lies quietly, turning to stare at the wall. Think. There’s no time; his snort is a bestial animal sound, so close to her ear that she startles, jerking her head back and screaming in fright.

  ‘Stop! Oh Jesus, please. Bex!’

  For a brief moment it’s a relief to hear her own voice, as though she’s succeeded in reconnecting, but then his hand clamps over her mouth, severing her plea. Somehow, he manages to keep both her arms pinned. She tries wrenching one free but it’s no use. Why hasn’t anyone heard? Luisa’s heart sinks. Bex can sleep through fire alarms and with alcohol she’s ten times worse. But Nikola? It dawns clear that this was a set-up. They would have likely put drugs into Bex’s viski. The flat of Kosta’s palm presses against her mouth but his fingers still roam, stroking the side of her face. He whispers, she has no idea what, then that same guttural snort. She tries another tactic, forcing herself to smile, and maybe he senses the movement because he lifts his hand away. Luisa gulps at the air and he brushes his fingers against her face, his words still slurred. She tentatively moves an arm, just the tiniest of movements, but he plasters his palm back over her mouth and pushes down harder with his body.

  ‘Let’s find the others. Please. I won’t tell.’ She pleads with him, the words leaking out from behind his palm like gurgles under water.

  His hand is between her legs now, wrenching them apart and even though his weight has shifted a little he still has her pinned. She’s repulsed by his stiff penis prodding and pushing against her leg. Closer and closer and she tenses, an attempt to transfer energy into her pelvis so that she might catapult him off.

  ‘Get off! Oh my God. No!’ she screams but her cry is pulverised as he clamps his mouth on hers.

  There’s no air, but she feels compelled to shut her mouth like a clamp, against the mess of hair, his beard rasping her cheek and the side of her mouth. Her lip sears with pain when he bites it and drives his tongue in. Luisa gags, biting down hard with her front teeth. His roar forces her mouth to yank open and a panicked sob escapes. Turning her head towards the wall is a way to keep at least one part of her body away from him. There’s no point in crying. This is happening. Her most dreaded fear has finally caught up with her.

  All that remains is a sickness in the pit of her stomach as he searches with his fingers, pushing the flimsy fabric of her underwear sideways. He shoves against her with his penis. She feels so raw. All she wants is for this to be over now. He thrusts into her, again, and again, and again, and she yelps out in pain, sobbing now, big gasping sobs. Just make it end. Please make it end. He still has her wedged and she worries that if she moves, he might hurt her even more. The thought makes her whimper and she goes quiet, so quiet, holding her breath to not make a noise.

  He continues to thrust, arching his back, and moaning. Then his strangled cry. She feels completely overpowered by him and that hideous sound. Her chest hurts from holding her breath so tightly and she releases it as a gasp. Her heart quickens and without warning her body shudders. At first she doesn’t recognise the groan as coming from herself. But it is her. Her body convulses. Oh, Jesus. No! Make it stop. Repulsed, she tenses her body, desperate to regain control. Kosta’s body shudders and he collapses, all of his weight, his breathing deep, and heavy.

  Tears pool and then dribble down the side of Luisa’s nose. When Kosta finally rolls off her he lies at her side. Luisa lies stiffly, determined not to make a noise, her face still turned towards the wall. It takes all her effort to breathe. It’s as though she’s been opened up, drilled into, cutting deep to where her anxieties have lain in wait. But now they are flowing, leaching through her eyes, crawling over her body like an army of ants. There is no cathartic release, just emptiness. She wills him to go, still worrying that by moving even an inch she might encourage him again.

  Kosta curls off the bed and looms over her. Luisa lies quietly, very quietly, feigning sleep. After pulling up the covers and patting them around her, his breathing sounds calmer. She’s determined not to flinch when he strokes her face, but when his bristly hair brushes against her ear she can’t help moving away, just a nudge. He whispers something, she has no idea what, but he seems oblivious as to whether she’s awake or not. It’s only when he shuffles towards the foot of the bed and back towards the door that she feels she can breathe. He sto
ps and picks up something from the floor and Luisa remembers that thud — the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floorboards.

  Luisa holds onto her sobs until the door closes shut. She’s a felled tree but it’s his detestable, stinking sap, leaching from her, slicking her thighs like glue. Her tears flow, giant gouts of disgust and vulnerability, but she’s too frightened to make a sound.

  Somehow the night passes. The light filters under the curtains and brightens the room. Luisa’s tears have shrivelled inside her. She hasn’t slept, nor dared to leave the room. It’s too much of a risk. Every time she moves the cloying smell from that bastard animal’s semen rises to taunt her. And so she lies still — she might as well be a stone except that her mind is still alive. Thoughts twist and tumble, a tangle of contradictions which seem impossible to unravel. How could she have thought this was the country of her dreams? She worries about Bex, but in the next instance her mind lashes out. How could Bex have deserted her? She has no choice but to wait. If Mike were here, he would know what to do. If Mike were here, she would be safe.

  The click of the door sets her heart racing again. Luisa’s body twitches and shakes uncontrollably from head to toe as though she’s frozen, so incredibly cold. Bex tiptoes in and pads across the room. Luisa huddles down into herself, curling up like a koru.

  ‘You awake?’ whispers Bex. ‘Fat chance me sneaking in. Busted, eh?’ She giggles and touches Luisa’s shoulder. Another spasm attacks Luisa’s body. ‘What’s the matter, hon? Shit. You’re angry, aren’t you?’

  Yes! Luisa wants to scream, but all she can manage is a moan.

  ‘Oh my God! What’s the matter?’ Bex rubs Luisa’s arm. ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘He. Raped. Me.’ Luisa’s words spill out like grey dishwater.

  Bex thumps down beside her and wraps her in a hug. ‘Kosta? Oh my God. No!’

  Luisa scrunches her body into a tighter curl. Bex is speaking but her words mean nothing. All Luisa cares about is feeling the warmth of Bex’s arms. Safe arms, wrapping her close. She’s so exhausted. All that’s left are tiny sniffs — shadows of tears.

  ‘Luisa, listen. You need to listen. It’ll be okay, but we need to get out of here. I’m going to find Nikola.’

  ‘No! Don’t!’ Luisa grabs at Bex’s sweatshirt.

  ‘I’ll be straight back. Five minutes. Don’t move.’

  Bex pulls away and hurries across the room. Gone. Luisa’s arm is left dangling and she pulls it into her huddle, her hand a tight ball against her heart. She won’t let this beat her. And then the clarity. The horrible realisation. Bex is safe. Bex abandoned her. Luisa thumps the mattress but there’s no release from the anger contained in her tight fist. How could Bex do that? It’s been their unspoken rule to stick together. She should have let Bex go and fend for herself in London. Bex was the reason they came this godforsaken way and Luisa is the one who’s paid. None of this anger helps. She has no choice but to wait. The numbness creeps back.

  When Bex returns she switches on the light. Luisa tries to hide her head. She can hear Bex rummaging through a pack.

  ‘Quick,’ Bex says, tapping her on the shoulder. ‘Nikola will drive us into town. He’s got the keys.’

  ‘But Kosta?’ Luisa groans.

  ‘Nikola’s keeping a lookout. You get dressed. I’ll sort our gear.’

  Luisa forces her legs out from under the covers; placing her feet on the ground counts as small progress.

  ‘Here, I’ll help,’ says Bex. ‘You stay sitting.’

  Luisa might as well be a puppet. Bex undresses her then feeds Luisa’s arms through the straps of her bra, leaning around to hook the clasp behind. She helps Luisa into a clean T-shirt and sweatshirt. Luisa can’t bear to look down. Not at that other part of her body.

  ‘Maybe keep those on, hon,’ Bex says, as Luisa tears at the waistband of her underwear. ‘For the evidence.’

  ‘No!’ Luisa snaps, scrambling to her feet to wrench her underwear down, wincing. She refuses to be a puppet. No! She pushes through the pain and makes it to her pack, pulling out a clean pair of knickers along with a plastic bag. ‘This will do.’

  ‘Good idea. These now.’ Bex hands Luisa her tracksuit pants and takes the plastic bag. She picks up the discarded knickers by their waistband and drops them inside. Luisa’s sneakers are lined up beside the bed, the socks already tucked in. Bex points at them. ‘Hurry, hon. We have to go.’

  Luisa slumps back on the bed. ‘Ouch!’ Her eyes well. That reminder. That change in movement. She scans the floor and finds her knife lying against the skirting board, its blade still snapped out. Everything feels like slow motion as she pulls on her shoes. Without thinking she has reached across to retrieve her watch from the small table between the beds and is fixing the strap around her wrist: 7.25 a.m. The routine feels strange when everything else is at odds.

  Bex is dressed. This feels right. Bex is always first to get ready. She brushes past Luisa and leans out the door to the hallway. ‘Hurry,’ she whispers, beckoning. ‘Take Luisa’s pack. The red one.’

  Nikola scurries in and Luisa averts her eyes and stares at the knife. Bex crosses to the same spot and her knees crack while bending to retrieve it, startling Luisa. Bex snaps the blade shut, and Luisa feels that same sense of hopelessness — failure on a sharp edge.

  ‘I’ll take this,’ Bex says, cradling the knife in her hand.

  Nikola has Luisa’s pack slung over his shoulder, her daypack looped over his arm. Bex hauls her own pack onto her back and clutches her daypack to her chest. She motions, Quick! Luisa makes it to the door but hesitates, holding on to the frame, scanning the hallway, left then right.

  ‘Go,’ Bex whispers urgently. ‘Follow Nikola. Through the kitchen.’

  They slip down the hallway, through the tight galley kitchen and out onto the back porch. A chill wind catches Luisa when she steps off the porch and she lifts her fist to her mouth. Bex urges her onwards, towards the Zastava, the gravel crunching under their feet, far too loud. Nikola closes the door behind Luisa and she sits, tucked in behind the front passenger’s seat, her knees wedged shut, her hands like wringers on her lap. She edges away from the slit and dares to glance out the window. Bex and Nikola climb into the front seats. The house in the early morning light is less white and more a dirty cream. The sun colours the tops of the terracotta roof tiles, a sly kiss. Luisa shudders and stares at her white knuckles. It’s only once they ease out of the driveway that she lets out a dry whistle.

  ‘I’m sorry, Luisa,’ Nikola blurts.

  Arsehole, Luisa thinks, drilling the back of his head. ‘Get me out of here,’ she says, through clenched teeth.

  Nikola flicks his head as though shocked to hear her speak. He turns back again and the only sound is from the wind whistling against the car.

  ‘The police station, right?’ Bex says, turning to Nikola, her voice snarky.

  It’s the last thing Luisa wants. She doesn’t want to see anyone. Doesn’t want to tell. ‘No!’ she says, determined.

  ‘We have to, hon,’ says Bex, and Luisa feels powerless again.

  ‘Please,’ says Nikola, raising one hand. ‘I feel guilty. I didn’t know. Didn’t know he could do that. My place is small. But now, I wish . . .’ His voice trails off.

  ‘You should feel guilty!’ says Bex. ‘How can you be friends with that monster?’

  ‘He is friend of my family.’ He thumps at the steering wheel. ‘I don’t know him like friend, more like . . . older brother. I trusted him.’

  ‘He was an animal,’ says Bex. ‘Look what he did!’

  Luisa shudders. She can’t control the shakes.

  ‘Luisa, I tell you,’ says Nikola, catching her eye in the rear-vision mirror like a startled animal. ‘I keep saying I’m sorry. I cannot believe this. I don’t know this side of him.’ His fingers tap at the steering wheel.

  ‘You know now,’ Luisa mumbles, staring out the side window to the mountains in the distance. Home feels so far away. It’s as though
she’s on quicksand and being pulled under.

  ‘I know,’ Nikola says. ‘And I’m sad, very sad.’ He shakes his head. ‘You are our guests. We mean to look after you. Now I am all wrong.’

  ‘How can we be sure this wasn’t a set-up?’ says Bex. ‘How many others have you caught in your web; you the charmer and he the monster?’

  ‘Bex, please! Believe me! I have no idea. Trust me, I feel shame to admit this.’

  Bex jabs her finger onto the dashboard. ‘So, what will you do?’ Her voice is shrill, indignant.

  ‘I must leave to police. They will know. For me, I will be angry.’

  ‘You have to speak to him. To his family. You must tell them.’

  Jab, jab, jab. Please, make this stop. Luisa tries to ignore the flow of words. She would give anything to have her family around her now. She looks to the mountains, feeling emptied out, then jumps when her watch erupts. Nikola jerks his back. Luisa slaps at her wrist to silence the shrill beep. Pointless now.

  ‘I try,’ says Nikola. ‘But I’m scared too. I’m wanting to hurt him. I have no trust in myself.’

  ‘You should throttle him,’ says Bex. ‘Give him back his own medicine.’

  ‘First we go to police. Then we find a way to get you Kiwis out. Then is his turn. Only then.’

  This shuts Bex up. Perhaps she is thinking through the next steps. Luisa concentrates on taking deep breaths. The danger is behind her but she still can’t order her thoughts. She doesn’t want to think. Can’t.

  The police station is a two-storey concrete building, with rows of square windows half-covered with roller blinds. An ugly air-conditioning box sits to the side of the main doorway. Two large flags droop from poles cast at an angle midway along: one is the Yugoslav flag, but Luisa doesn’t recognise the other. A flat roof slab that looks glued on, an afterthought, covers the porch.