The Dorić Diaries

"Andelko, come up here and help us." This was followed by a short pause and then, "What are you doing, Krissy?"

"Nothing Papa, just teasing ... I can help you ... let Andy clean the stalls! He likes cleaning shit!" she said and laughed running up to the loft. She was impossible.

Being the youngest, Kristina was Papa's favorite and she could pretty much get away with anything but I couldn't help but wonder whether he saw her groping me or whether his vision was blocked by my body. I was never quite sure.

Later that evening, after dinner, when Kristina went to the outhouse I followed her and waited in the shadows outside the door. My grandfather had built the original structure out of wood but Papa had rebuilt it a few years back. He had made it much larger and used brick instead of wood. He also installed western style commodes (toilets) in both, the men's and women's sides and also installed a pump with running water and a place to wash which was a blessing.

I was determined to have a talk with her -- she just had to be more careful. There was a swirling breeze that night which caused the leaves to swish and rustle, accompanying the susurrant whirring of the Cicada. It was threatening to rain again and the churning buzz of the insect's tymbals was shattered by the intermittent crackle of thunder and lightning. But despite the roar of the wind and the hiss of the imagoes, I could hear her peeing and the water running while she washed herself. Just the thought of her with her skirt drawn up was getting me excited and I was tempted to go in and fuck her but I controlled myself - "Later; I'll fuck her later tonight' I thought as I stared at the heavy wooden door. The traffic to the outhouse was at its peak after dinner so I knew we didn't have much time.

A few minutes later she stepped out and when she saw me she ran into my arms, her lips searching for mine, but I dragged her behind the building.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing, Krissy? Papa almost saw us!" I hissed, knowing that my father would kill me for seducing his 'baby girl'.

Her face looked flushed and radiant in the yellow haze of the wall-lantern. Big sparkling eyes, the full, pouting mouth I couldn't resist, thick velvety hair and her breasts which had grown a lot bigger over the last year, straining against her nightie ... I felt a pang of regret as soon as I saw her expression change. I could see that she was hurt by my reaction as the tears brimmed in her eyes.

She was quiet, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She was beginning to look more and more like Sasha and I felt myself wanting her even more.

"You have to more careful, baby ... you just have to ..." I said in a gentler tone.

"Oh, stop worrying, Andy ... you are such a worrywart! Papa knows nothing and who cares anyway? Petar and Sasha are doing it, so why can't we?" she answered in her typical defiant manner, her mood suddenly upbeat and happy.

Then without another word she pushed me against the wall and dropped to her knees and began fumbling with my belt.

"Hurry, baby, I need you ... to taste you ... shoot it into my mouth," she mumbled and tugged impatiently at the buckle, unable to get my belt undone.

All thoughts of Papa and getting caught were gone, shunted out, and just as I was about to indulge her, we heard the soft echo of padded footsteps over the sibilating buzz of the insects.

"Who's there?" It was Laura, "Andy, is that you? Krissy?"

Galvanized by the nearness of Laura's voice, Kristina got up quickly and brushed off her dress before stepping out from behind the wall.

"Hi Laura, we were watching the lightening ... it's beautiful, don't you think?" Kristina said matter-of-factly, without the slightest hint of what she had been about to do.

I came out of the shadows and couldn't help but feel guilty. My eyes were drawn to the dirt stains around the knees on Krissy's dress. Did Laura suspect something? Her expression was one of suspicion, like she wasn't buying Kristina's story at all.

"What's going on, you two?" Laura quizzed, this time addressing me, "You have been acting very strangely the last few days ... and don't lie to me; just tell me what is going on!"

"I don't know what you mean," Krissy answered without missing a beat, "and don't think I don't notice you staring at me like some weirdo... what's wrong with you?"

There was a short silence and I was about to intervene when a loud crash of thunder ripped through the air making us all jump in fright. The two sisters looked at each other and began laughing hysterically.

"God! I think I just peed in my panties ..." Laura said.

"Let's go in before we get hit by lightning ... I don't think Mom will want that!" I said, relieved that the moment was over.

"Wait for me. I have to pee," she said and ran into the bathroom.

I gave Kristina quick kiss on her mouth, "You wait for her. I'll see you later ... Krissy, you have to be more careful, baby."

She laughed and squeezed my behind playfully just as I turned and headed back to the house. I felt a sense of relief knowing that we had dodged the proverbial bullet once again.

That night, though I wanted her, I was sure that Krissy would play it safe and stay in her bed but I was wrong. She slipped under the covers and we made love until the wee hours of dawn.

*******

Beware of Greeks bearing Gifts

The next morning, just after breakfast, a large truck pulled into the backyard, the roar of its engine reverberating in the early morning mist and causing the windows to rattle. It was a shiny, like-new Freightliner, an American truck, with an open bed that had been converted to resemble a tractor-trailer. These were quite rare and very expensive and were also much larger than the European trucks. The gleaming black paint and State's emblem on the small flag revealed its ownership.

Andro Bogdanic stepped out from the passenger's side and almost fell as he jumped to the yard. He caught himself and then called out.

"Hello! Hello there ... I hope I'm in time for coffee and cake!" He said jovially.

It was extremely rare for us to have guests and anyone visiting us was welcomed and treated with undue hospitality. For my mother and sisters it was an opportunity to catch up with all the local gossip and for my father, a chance to share some beer and talk politics. The local and national party affiliations were a fervent hobby for all Yugoslavians -- politics was a drug that was almost as addictive as soccer!

Hearing the commotion my mother and Sasha emerged from the kitchen onto the porch and I came out from the pen that housed the sheep. It was located a bit to the rear but gave me clear view of the yard.

"Miss. Dorić, it's so good to see you again!" Bogdanic exclaimed when he spotted Sasha.

"Oh, hello Mr. ... er ... umm ... I'm sorry, I don't remember your name," she said, laughing and throwing up her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

The fat man bowed and then added, "Oh, that's okay, Miss, my name is not important but it is Andro Bogdanic and I am your humble servant!"

Then he turned to my mother and smiled and just then, Laura and Krissy walked into the yard.

"This is my mother and those two pretty young things are my sisters," Sasha said, introducing them but not using their names.

"It is my great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dorić. It is easy to see where your daughters get their unusual beauty from!"

My mother studied the peculiar man and smiled; she wasn't averse to flattery. She pushed back a strand of rebellious hair that had fallen across her face before addressing the stranger.

"Would you like some coffee?" Mama asked the heavyset man.

"Yes, please, it was a long drive and coffee sounds wonderful. What do you say, Andrej?" Bogdanic said turning to the driver who nodded.

There was no mistaking the body language of the second man -- he was either ex-militia or Para-military. I was so busy studying him that I didn't see Petar. He had been in the vegetable garden hidden from our view by the huge truck and appeared without warning catching us all by surprise.

"What do you want, fat man?" Petar asked without preamble as he walked to where the truck was parked, the tone of his voice cutting through the conviviality.

Bogdanic's initial reaction was one of surprise but he was able to cover up his uneasiness. Petar, he had realized when he first met him, was different from the others that his boss had intimidated. There was something about this man that frightened him; something palpable between them that seemed to be preordained by fate. And, that something did not engender a good feeling in the Assistant.

"Oh, hello Petar ... it's good to see you!" he quipped ignoring the derogatory moniker and controlling his apprehension.

Petar was now standing in front of Bogdanic.

"What do you want?" Petar repeated wiping his hands on his overalls and giving the driver a quick once over.

Andro Bogdanic stuttered and mumbled avoiding the cold, blue stare of my brother. Petar was normally a quiet person but if he disliked you, it was best you stayed away from him. He reached out and grabbed the fat man by his collar.

"Come on, spit it out! What are you really here for?" Petar's voice took on a harder edge.

The driver made a move towards them but Bogdanic waved him off.

"My boss, the Director, Lucian Dragovic, regretted the way matters ended the other day and wanted to make amends. He was sorry for the misunderstanding," the assistant said speaking very quickly then motioned to the driver, waving his hand in the direction of the truck, "and as a show of good faith he wants you to have these ... these gifts. They are yours, Petar, with no strings attached."

Petar turned when the driver, who had walked to the rear of the truck, came back with four piglets, holding them up by their hind legs. They were small, clean and healthy and when he let them down, they snorted and hobbled a few feet then stopped to burrow their noses into the grass. Their hind legs had been tethered so they couldn't get away.

The driver's face was expressionless but even I could tell that he was not really the driver but the muscle and was sent to make sure that Bogdanic was safe and did as he was told.

"These specimens are the magnificent Mangalitsa piglets... from Austria! The very best! You know, the Director wants only the best for your family, Petar!" Bogdanic said morphing like a chameleon, his voice taking on an air of subtle authority.

The Mangalitsa are a breed of pigs distinguishable from others by their long, coarse hair and their uncanny resemblance to the wild Boars. This breed produces the highest quality and most expensive cuts of meat and was highly sought after in Europe. We would be the envy of the region -- none of the farmers we knew, not even the largest pig breeder, Bojan Broz, had Mangalitsa pigs. However, Petar was not impressed.

"Take them back and tell your boss that we do not need or take gifts!" Petar snapped and spat; the glob of spittle landing by Bogdanic's feet.

Just then Papa appeared in the doorway to the dining room.

"Wait a minute, Petar, what is going on?" Papa asked, stepping into the yard. He had been watching the entire charade and had decided that it was time to intervene.

Petar and Papa moved to the side and spoke in hushed tones. Petar was gesturing animatedly nodding several times in the direction of Sasha after which Papa turned away and looked at the piglets, then addressed Bogdanic.

"No strings attached? No favors, no subtle requests or visits in the dark?" Papa asked.

"No, sir, none at all! I give you my word. My boss is a good man and can be a friend to you," Bogdanic's voice now taking on an oily, obsequious tone, "Director Dragovic has the most respect for your family ... your father ... he was a great man and it is good to have friends in high places, no?"

"There is always a price, my friend, and not necessarily in currency but as long as it is fair and equitable and the expectations are clearly understood, I have no problem with it," Papa said, "I actually prefer it that way."

Petar was about to say something when Papa waved him off. I could sense Petar's anger but he bit his tongue and remained silent.

"And about my father; so that we have no misunderstandings, he had no use for the Government or those who hid behind the corrupt veil of bureaucracy to exploit others. But, he was a gracious man and treated all visitors with hospitality. Come, let's have a cup of coffee and forget our differences. Let's talk some more."

Papa turned towards the house giving Petar a cold look, "My son does not trust strangers and occasionally forgets his manners."

Petar glared at the fat man then turned on his heels and stormed back towards the garden. His expression was dark and hard and one that I had never seen before. I was suddenly overcome by an uneasy feeling that this innocuous beginning was going to lead to something horrific. I shook the thought from my mind and followed my father into the house.

"Oh, I understand ... these days, you can never be too careful," Bogdanic agreed, tugging at his handlebar mustache, and walking alongside me.

After approximately an hour we came out again. But this time, Bogdanic was in his element talking to Sasha who was holding a bottle of perfume he had given her. It was a bottle of Chanel No. 5, a ridiculously expensive brand made from the extract of jasmine and rose and which cost more than all the pigs we had including the Mangalitsa piglets. She opened the cap and sniffed it then dabbed a bit on her neck and turning to her sisters, she did the same to them. This was quite a special treat, something farm girls could never even dream of. The air was clogged and heavy with titillating fragrance of flowers, especially the sweet smell of Jasmine.

"Please thank the Director, it was very thoughtful of him," Sasha said and extended her hand to Bogdanic.

The Assistant bowed ceremoniously, kissing the back of her hand, "No thanks needed, dear lady. A smile from you is thanks enough!"

Just as Bogdanic was about to leave, Sasha said, "Wait! The last time the Director had wanted the pies ... we have some left and I will get it for you!"

And with that she ran back into the kitchen. She was happy as a child -- thrilled by the extravagant gift and reveling in the attention being showered on her.

I have often wondered how life would have turned out had they just gotten into the truck and driven off - if Sasha hadn't remembered the pies. Life may have been very different. But they didn't just drive off and our lives were indelibly affected by the events that transpired next.

While we waited for her to return, Petar rejoined us. He had finished raking and seeding the small plot where we grew all our vegetables. His overalls and hands were covered in mud and I could tell that the strenuous exertion had done little to change his dark mood.

The driver, who was in his way, quickly stepped aside avoiding eye contact -- not that he was intimidated but he too could sense the rage exuding from within Petar. Bogdanic, on the other hand, was oblivious of my brother's state of mind.

"Petar, once those pigs have grown you can breed them -- you will have the only Mangalitsa in the region. And we will buy it back from you or you can butcher them and the meat will bring in a fair amount of money." Bogdanic said to him trying to make conversation.

"Fuck you! Fuck the pigs and fuck your Director! You tell him that ... you hear? And you tell him to stay the fuck away from my sister!" Petar snarled his face dark with anger.

He shoved the assistant hard sending him stumbling backwards waving his short, chubby arms in the air, desperately trying to regain his balance until he succumbed to the laws of gravity and fell heavily on his ass. It was like a scene from a slapstick movie and would have been hilarious except for what followed.

No sooner had the assistant hit the ground than the driver made his move. He was quick, reacting with the agility of a cat; closing the distance between them in a flash. He grabbed Petar in a choke hold from the rear in an attempt to restrain him. The man was bigger than Petar, about six feet two, knew how to fight and was in excellent shape but he had grossly underestimated my brother.

Petar reacted instantly securing the forearm that was around his neck with his left hand while reaching behind and grabbing a hold of the driver's jacket with the right. Then jerking forward, rolling his shoulders he pivoted his hips sending the man flying over his back. It was a basic Judo throw but executed so efficiently that the man was unable to react to counter it.

The driver was obviously trained in hand to hand combat. Despite being thrown, he did not let go of Petar's neck and the two men fell to the ground. But it was here that Petar's immense strength provided him with a distinct advantage. They wrestled fiercely, rolling on the soggy grass but Petar broke free and got on top of the driver, then holding the man by his throat he punched him in the face, ending the struggle quite abruptly.

The driver went limp but Petar didn't stop, he continued pummeling the defenseless man with a barrage of blows that rained down in a blur, so quickly that none of us had moved. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Petar landed ten to fifteen punches before Papa dragged him off of the unconscious man. And it was just as well because had Papa not intervened, I know Petar would have surely killed him. It was obvious from the man's face that his nose and orbital socket were crushed. His mouth hung open at on odd angle indicating that his jaw might also be fractured -- he was a bloody mess.

When I looked over at Petar, he was standing off to the side, nonchalantly studying the knuckles of his right hand before shaking it out like he might have hurt his fist then he turned and walked away indifferent to the mayhem he had just unleashed.

Mother and Sasha tended to the injured man but we soon realized that he was in need of real medical attention. I helped Papa carry him into the back of the truck and since Bogdanic couldn't handle the huge vehicle, Papa and I took them to the local hospital.

The Assistant was beside himself with worry.

*******

El Tigre

There were three men in Andro Bogdanic's office. One of them sat on a wooden chair in front of the Assistant's desk and was obviously the leader. His name was Dragoslav Blažanović. He was known as the 'El Tigre' and was a Krajina Serb from Montenegro with a reputation for violence. The other two who stood behind him with their arms folded could have passed for twins. The room was small and cramped made more so by their presence. They were all cut from the same stone; about the same size, tall and powerfully built and dressed in the black fatigues of the militia. The door was shut and the conversation was spoken in hushed tones.

"There are two issues," Bogdanic said to them, "One: you need to know that we are sympathetic to your feelings and realize the importance of sending a clear message for what happened to Andrej. However, we need do this tactfully, without creating problems with the family. There is a reason for this so we must be circumspect."

The men did not respond but remained silent, staring steadfastly at Bogdanic.

"And two: our Party needs the farmers. The old man is reasonable and can be an asset so it would serve us well to deal with him and leave Petar Dorić alone. Let the father handle his son! These people have influence with the locals -- remember Stefan Dorić, the grandfather? Okay? We do not need any more of that shit!"

There was no response. Bogdanic felt the eyes of the men boring into him like he was being interrogated. He squirmed in his chair, tugged at his mustache and tried to regain his position of authority. 'These fucking troglodytes made him nervous and how he wished he could have been unafraid; like Petar Dorić. Now there was a man!'