Upon the edge of a plain, a legion of naked trees huddled together, slowly dying. Where one had fallen, a gentle breeze wove lazily through the opening, caressing its rotten branches. Wind whispered the promise of rain and thunder. Shards of ice stood at ease, in rows, where blades of dewy grass had frozen over. Pale sunlight cast a web of shadows upon the ground, and patches of virgin-white mist drifted about, bubbling with languor. At the forest’s edge, two men sat on the dusty soil, in the shade of a tree. From each man’s mouth fell streams of bitter smoke. Now and again, one would reach forward and throw a card onto the messy pile in front of him. Two rifles lay at their feet, freshly cleaned and shining. Delicate threads of red silk were stitched into the patchwork of their clothes.
The older man passed. He calmly placed his cards on the ground. His face was cleanly shaven; his greying hair was cut dutifully short. Coarse skin and gaunt cheeks were the spoils of a harsh life. Now, he stared at the young man to his left intently. His eyes shined with the same colour as the fading autumn sky.
“Nikola, you’re cheating,” he said, slowly. “Just now, you grabbed at something behind you. You’re cheating.” The accusation hung heavily in the air. Nikola furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and timidly denied it. He had a mess of dirty-blond hair on his head and his cheeks were flushed with the rose-hues of youth. “Oh, prove it, then. Show me – move!” His voice oozed with frustration; this was the impatience of a capricious man. Nikola shook his head, sighed and shimmied to one side.
“See Marko? Nothing. It’s not my fault you’ve got rotten luck.” The young man turned his head slightly, motioning to the empty space behind him. As he did, Marko furtively reached for something in his left pocket. Nikola saw him do it. They both stopped, and stared at each other. The air was tense with the silence. All a sudden, Marko let out a strange, twisted bellow, and was swept up by fits of violent laughter. He slapped his knee, out of breath. Nikola eased his shoulders and started to chuckle.
“You’re too easy, Niko. Your face! Playing against you for money will be robbery.”
“Very funny, sir,” retorted Nikola, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “If money were on the table, I hope you’d try harder not to get caught.” Insolence was a poor mask for the warm tones in his voice.
“Finally, some respect,” Marko teased, throwing his cards on the ground, “and that’s beside the point. I got in your head. Okay, next time we play for a round of drinks.”
Marko began gathering up the pile. Suddenly, the dampened sound of static cut through the clearing. He stopped. Then he calmly smoothed over the edges of the deck, placed it by his side, and reached for the grey radio at his waist. The two men met gazes, their eyes lingering for a moment. Marko nodded slightly, stood up and started to walk deeper into the tree line. His companion knew to wait - they had done this before.
Alone, Nikola gazed absently at the scene about him. A small cluster of white lilies dotted the ground, near the charcoal remains of an ancient tree. They stretched their petals out, in longing, towards the shining sun. As a small child in Belgrade, Nikola had never seen such pretty flowers. They were tiny children, crying for a lost mother. Then, a column of pale-yellow light, glittering with dust, descended from the sky to illuminate them. It pulsed with an ephemeral beauty, and had a concrete substance to it. Nikola smiled. Checking that Marko was yet to return, he stood up, strolled towards them and gently poured out the contents of his hip-flask. Then, he began picking up the gear, placing it in two large day-bags. When Marko came back, some minutes later, Nikola was leaning against the trunk of a tree, whistling softly.
“Three trucks. They left Srebrenica an hour ago. They should be here in five minutes. This is the last one for today.”
“Do we meet at the same spot?”
“Yes, nothing different.”
They hoisted the equipment over their shoulders, and grabbed those shining rifles. When they reached the edge of the clearing, a gust of wind coursed over them, light and calming. They stood, waiting. A small Swift flitted through the air, its black feathers coated with streaks of lucent purple. At one point, it landed on the ground, some way from their feet. Marko smiled, and started to whistle a faint melody. He was met by its sing-song reply.
Soon they made out three trucks, as specks on the horizon. A minute passed. They veered in, quite close to the trees, and crunched to a halt. Men in uniform poured out, and made for the rear of each vehicle. Their industrious actions were coloured by the experience of repetition. A single figure approached the two companions.
“Did anyone come across the site?”
“No, sir,” replied Marko, “it’s been quiet. Exactly the same as the other watches.”
“Good. After this, we can go home.”
It only took them three minutes. In three minutes, seven men cleared the trucks of their contents. Now, in a single, endless row, running parallel to the trees, a line of figures knelt on the ground. Their hands were tied behind their backs. Their faces were covered by crude, white cloth. They gazed about their feet, despondent and full of despair.
Nikola stared at them. They looked like sad flowers.
Mark 5:9 – And Jesus asked him, ‘What is thy name?’ And he replied, ‘My name is Legion; for we are many.’
