invisible force.
“You're good at this. Ever thought of being a nurse? Or a doctor?” When Tarik looked back over his shoulder, Luka's cheeks had gone pink.
Luka didn't meet his eyes. “No.”
“You like working in the barber shop? Or is there something else you want to be?”
Hesitation. “No. There's nothing else I want to be.”
CHAPTER FIVE: Capriccio
Whoever fights monsters
should see to it that in the process
he does not become a monster.
And if you gaze long enough into an abyss,
the abyss will gaze back into you.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Luka put the cap back on the water jug and jogged a few steps to make up the distance that had widened between him and Tarik, who only drank when they took their rest breaks. At least his chest barely hurt anymore, even though he was the one shouldering the big rucksack weighted down with food and water and weapons and who knew what else. Tarik's stamina never seemed to flag, despite his injury. His long legs kept their big, steady strides in the woods, on gravel, in the muddy low grasslands while Luka constantly scrambled to keep up.
“What would you do if I let you go?” Tarik kept scanning the distance without looking at him.
A cold thrill shot through Luka. He didn't know if it was hope or fear. “You're going to let me go?”
“No. I just want to know what you'd do, if I did.”
What an asshole.
“You must have thought about it. Made a plan. I'm sure you're not just leaving your fate completely in my hands. Would you go back to your refugee camp?”
No way. Never.
“Is it classified?”
“It's not like I have anywhere else to go. It's not like I can just walk into a village and ask for a job. The Eršbans would kill me. Besides...”
Tarik looked at him now, waiting. “Besides, what?”
Luka tugged at the front of his uniform. “They kill deserters.” It didn't matter he'd never signed up. He had no way of proving he wasn't the soldier the uniform belonged to.
“Or, in your case, they kill just for fun.” Luka's face went hot. Something about the way Tarik was looking at him made him feel like he knew why the soldiers had beaten him and left him to die. “You really want to turn around and give your life to those people? Let them use you to shoot their enemies? Put your body between our bullets and their leader? Or is he your leader?”
“Is your guy any better? Is your side any more right?”
“Nope. Zivković and Kadryov are singing the same song, in perfect sync with the rhythm of the war drums, lulling us to sleep with their sinister promises to keep us safe from our enemies. Safe from p ain, safe from truth and choice and our will to survive, while General I teljević and General Hasanović rampage toward each other, c ounting bodies like sheep.
Who talked like that? Maybe Luka'd really seen something in those dark eyes, when Tarik was still the bearded menace. Or maybe sanity sounded mad, when the rest of the world had gone insane.
Tarik grinned, looking perfectly lucid. “Do you read sci fi?”
He'd only read a few. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Stranger in a Strange Land. Neuromancer. So many books he hadn't found the time for, yet. “Not really.”
“Well, imagine, if one kilometer from here there was a door—a portal—and you could step through and end up anywhere you wanted, anywhere in the world, where would you choose?”
Images from photographs and movies flickered through Luka's memory. “I don't speak any other languages.”
“So? You can learn another language. Where could you imagine being happy?”
Nowhere.
A faint smile curved Tarik's lips as he stared into the distance, combing his thick mop of dark curls back with his fingers. “A little town somewhere in France? The Australian Outback? The beaches in Mexico?”
“Amsterdam. Or maybe New York.” Once he said it, all Luka could picture was being homeless in those cities where a meal probably cost what he'd
“You're good at this. Ever thought of being a nurse? Or a doctor?” When Tarik looked back over his shoulder, Luka's cheeks had gone pink.
Luka didn't meet his eyes. “No.”
“You like working in the barber shop? Or is there something else you want to be?”
Hesitation. “No. There's nothing else I want to be.”
CHAPTER FIVE: Capriccio
Whoever fights monsters
should see to it that in the process
he does not become a monster.
And if you gaze long enough into an abyss,
the abyss will gaze back into you.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Luka put the cap back on the water jug and jogged a few steps to make up the distance that had widened between him and Tarik, who only drank when they took their rest breaks. At least his chest barely hurt anymore, even though he was the one shouldering the big rucksack weighted down with food and water and weapons and who knew what else. Tarik's stamina never seemed to flag, despite his injury. His long legs kept their big, steady strides in the woods, on gravel, in the muddy low grasslands while Luka constantly scrambled to keep up.
“What would you do if I let you go?” Tarik kept scanning the distance without looking at him.
A cold thrill shot through Luka. He didn't know if it was hope or fear. “You're going to let me go?”
“No. I just want to know what you'd do, if I did.”
What an asshole.
“You must have thought about it. Made a plan. I'm sure you're not just leaving your fate completely in my hands. Would you go back to your refugee camp?”
No way. Never.
“Is it classified?”
“It's not like I have anywhere else to go. It's not like I can just walk into a village and ask for a job. The Eršbans would kill me. Besides...”
Tarik looked at him now, waiting. “Besides, what?”
Luka tugged at the front of his uniform. “They kill deserters.” It didn't matter he'd never signed up. He had no way of proving he wasn't the soldier the uniform belonged to.
“Or, in your case, they kill just for fun.” Luka's face went hot. Something about the way Tarik was looking at him made him feel like he knew why the soldiers had beaten him and left him to die. “You really want to turn around and give your life to those people? Let them use you to shoot their enemies? Put your body between our bullets and their leader? Or is he your leader?”
“Is your guy any better? Is your side any more right?”
“Nope. Zivković and Kadryov are singing the same song, in perfect sync with the rhythm of the war drums, lulling us to sleep with their sinister promises to keep us safe from our enemies. Safe from p ain, safe from truth and choice and our will to survive, while General I teljević and General Hasanović rampage toward each other, c ounting bodies like sheep.
Who talked like that? Maybe Luka'd really seen something in those dark eyes, when Tarik was still the bearded menace. Or maybe sanity sounded mad, when the rest of the world had gone insane.
Tarik grinned, looking perfectly lucid. “Do you read sci fi?”
He'd only read a few. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Stranger in a Strange Land. Neuromancer. So many books he hadn't found the time for, yet. “Not really.”
“Well, imagine, if one kilometer from here there was a door—a portal—and you could step through and end up anywhere you wanted, anywhere in the world, where would you choose?”
Images from photographs and movies flickered through Luka's memory. “I don't speak any other languages.”
“So? You can learn another language. Where could you imagine being happy?”
Nowhere.
A faint smile curved Tarik's lips as he stared into the distance, combing his thick mop of dark curls back with his fingers. “A little town somewhere in France? The Australian Outback? The beaches in Mexico?”
“Amsterdam. Or maybe New York.” Once he said it, all Luka could picture was being homeless in those cities where a meal probably cost what he'd
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