Blitzed (51 page)

T
he drive was
long and hard, but Felix was a total gentleman the entire time, insisting that I take the more comfortable shotgun seat of the car and that he drive. “You comforted me last night and are probably feeling it right about now,” he said when I protested at first. “You let me get a solid chunk of sleep. Now it's your turn to relax and rest some. If there's a problem, I can swap out with one of the other guys.”

The other guys were riding in their own car, a van with an ice chest that held Francois's body, and as our little two-vehicle motorcade wormed its way back to Albania, I dozed, unconsciously glad that Felix had let me rest. I awoke in time for lunch and our first refueling stop, where Felix did a few minutes of jumping jacks to loosen himself back up and to re-energize while I just relaxed on the grass and watched while eating something that kind of resembled a corn dog, but had a gamier, richer flavor.

“You keep doing that, and the car's going to smell like a locker room,” I joked, sipping at my bottle of Coke. Regardless of where you go in the world, you can find Coke, and you at least were assured that it was safer than the water in a lot of places. My intestinal track had beefed itself up some in the months I was with the Hardys, but I still wasn't quite ready to trust my gut to anything but Coke or Evian, and I hadn't seen Evian in the little gas station store we stopped at. “Not that I mind too much, of course.”

“I'd have thought you'd be doing them with me,” Felix replied. “You’re in amazing shape.”

“Thank you,” I demurred in reply, “but that is a completely short term thing. I’m quite happy being in shape but not an athlete, and plan on spending the next week at least as far from anything approaching physical exercise as I can without looking like a total sluggard.”

“I bet you'll still look beautiful,” Felix said, then stopped his exercise, a confused look on his face. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” I said, touched but also hurt. He'd never had to apologize for complimenting me before, after all. To hide my hurt I stood up, brushing off my pants and balling up my trash. “Come on, I'll drive the next hour or two until we need to take a pee break.”

We reached the Hardy farm just as the moon was clearing the horizon and the Adriatic was turned into a milky white sheet of glass from the reflected light. I was glad too, because in addition to being exhausted, I was feeling depressed. Despite the fact that Felix was continuing to remember more and more as we drove, for some reason he wasn't recalling anything about me or our relationship. I could tell he found me attractive, but the thought of losing all that we’d been through together drove splinters of fear into my heart. I was glad when we pulled up in front of the house, as riding with Felix had turned from an opportunity to find further ways to unlock his memory, to a ride through my own insecurities and concerns. I needed support, and I needed to think.

Syeira was standing next to Charani as we pulled up. Charani had known since the day we extracted Felix that her son was dead, although she didn't know the details. I hadn't been able to tell her over the phone but promised her the full recollection when we got back.

Getting out of the car, I came to her, and her eyes were already brimming with tears as she looked at the now silent van that had pulled up behind me. “Francois?”

“He's in the van,” I said, pulling her into a hug. We embraced, not crying but just sharing strength for a moment, before turning to see the scene that added a measure of happiness to our sadness, as Syeira held her son in her arms again. Felix was stiff at first before his mind opened the locks inside and he embraced his mother, his memories of her starting to return. “He still has a long way to go.”

“We’ll be his strength,” Charani whispered. “Jordan, tell me, at least now before I see his body, did Francois die well?”

I nodded, kissing her on both cheeks. “Your son died with honor. He died my husband, and he died to protect me and his brother.”

“Then help me carry him inside. The burial and memorial will be tomorrow. He’s been out of the earth for too long already.”

I helped, refusing the assistance of the two other men, who were staying in the barn for the night in the makeshift barracks we'd had for the mission before returning to their families the next day. We carried Francois to his bedroom, where we laid him on the plastic covered top. The room was cool, the last vestiges of winter still clinging to the night, and while it wasn't the best environment, there was nothing better available. Considering the way he'd died, we couldn't involve the authorities, after all. Thankfully, the same rules applied with the way Felix's apparent death had been handled, and there were no rigmaroles to go through on bringing him back to life either.

We unzipped the heavy bag, Charani helping me unwrap the body. There was remarkably little discoloration or bruising on his body, and except for the crusted blood around his entrance and exit wounds, he looked calm and remarkably lifelike, as if he were just sleeping. Charani stopped and stroked her son's cold cheek. “My boy, my precious boy,” she whispered. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You didn't,” I answered, taking her shoulders. “You raised a man who atoned for his mistakes and died to save us. Come, let's make sure he looks ready for tomorrow.”

She leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead, then found the steel and strength inside herself that she'd helped her sister with just a month prior. Nodding once, we went to Francois's closet and picked out his clothes, choosing a wool suit that was in the urban French styles that he preferred. Working together, we spent the next hour cleaning and dressing him, using a cotton bandage to pack and seal his wounds. Our goal was to bury him with no inorganic fibers on is body so that he would truly return to the earth. By the end, my lower back was on fire from lifting and turning him, but we finished eventually, and I looked down on him, tears in my eyes. “Come on. If I stay, I'm going to cry, and I want to save my tears for tomorrow.”

“You go,” Charani said, finding a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “You've had days to say your goodbyes. I'm going to spend the night with him.”

I went over and got another blanket from the closet, wrapping it around my shoulders and sitting down next to her. “Then we'll do it together.”

* * *

T
he next day
, the four of us carried Francois's body to the family plot, where we buried him near his grandfather, his cousins, and members of his clan stretching back generations. There were no headstones, no markers. It was only from memory and tradition that anyone knew who was buried where.

As opposed to Felix's memorial in France, Francois's burial in Albania was attended only by Charani, Syeira, Felix, myself, and a local priest, who was a member of the tribe and would log it in the official tribal registry. Despite his efforts, the rest of the tribe had deemed Francois to have died without honor, and his death wouldn’t be respected.

We were dressed strangely for a burial, as each of us was wearing jeans and work clothes. It was a sign of respect, however, as the four of us dug his grave by hand, using shovels from the estate to make it deep and large enough for him. When that was done, we lowered him by hand, then heaped the dark, clay-rich dirt back into the hole over his cotton shroud. When it was finished, I was sweating, although I think some of the wetness on my face was tears. Still, it was cathartic, and I don't think I'd ever said goodbye in such a complete fashion.

Afterward, Syeira prepared a combined welcome home and memorial feast for Felix and Francois, while Charani changed. For the next month, she'd wear black, mourning for her son even when few others would. For my part, I was also in a black mood, although for different reasons. It was nearly sundown when Charani found me, sitting in what was going to become my room, wearing my black pants and blouse I'd chosen for the dinner. “I'm the one who lost my son, yet you look more despondent than I,” she said, coming over and sitting beside me. “I know part of it is that you lost Francois, but I suspect part of your feelings are because of Felix as well.”

“They are,” I whispered, looking down at my hands. So many times during the day I'd wanted to reach out and find comfort in taking Felix's hand, but each time he wasn't there, his attention on Syeira or lost in his own thoughts. “I don't know how to reach him.”

She thought for a second, then went over to the closet. She opened it and withdrew a familiar looking case from inside. “Francois had more than one of these prepared, you will find,” she said, unsnapping the cover. “You and he shared the love for this that will give you comfort for the rest of your life. It would honor me if you would take this and play it for him, and for Felix. If I remember correctly, it was how you reached him the first time.”

She lifted the case, and I once again looked at the black carbon fiber of Francois's acoustic guitar. Fresh tears mixed with a smile as I looked at it, so unlike any other guitar I'd ever played in my life, with the steel wrapped strings and neck made of artificial materials, unaltered and unwarped by temperature or humidity. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

It took me a while, but I decided eventually on two songs, one for each of my husbands. One that was lost forever, and one that was lost, but I hoped to find again. When Syeira found me, my fingers ached but I was ready. I was looking at my now-red fingertips, smiling ruefully. “Remind me in the future if I do get involved with more crazy adventures with your son or with this family, that I don't neglect my guitar calluses while building the calluses on the rest of my hand.”

She smiled and patted my shoulder. “Charani told me what she thought you might be up to. Did you choose what you wanted to play?”

I nodded. “One for Francois and one for Felix. It’s appropriate, I hope.”

“And successful as well,” she said. “Come, let's eat. Your hand can rest, and afterward, the four of us will go back out to Francois’s grave to let you play.”

After the first half of our dinner, a light affair that allowed us to quell the rumbles in our stomachs, we made our way out to the graveside. The freshly turned dirt was still dark and easy to spot by the light of the full moon, and Felix carried a torch that cast flickering flames around us. Setting the torch to a pile of wood that we gathered, we soon had a pretty fair representation of a campfire.

Charani and Syeira spoke first, in a way that was different than Felix's memorial. Instead of speaking to an audience, they spoke to Francois as if he were still there, listening and responding to them. They shared some of their favorite memories of him, and Charani spoke about how proud she was that he had redeemed himself. “Not so long ago I told you I was ashamed to have ever borne a child,” she said, her voice warm and tender. “But I wanted you to know, I've always loved you. And I’m so proud of you right now — I will always have that pride in my heart. I love you, my son.”

After we'd shared our words, it was my turn, and I took out the guitar. A flicker of recognition came to Felix's eyes, sparking hope inside me. I knelt down in front of Francois's grave, showing him the instrument. “You always did like when I played, so I thought I might play some for you and for Felix. I hope you don't mind.”

I started my first song, one that I'd never played for them before, but by one of my guitar heroes, and one of the greatest guitarists of all time. Eric Clapton had written it for his son, but the words were timeless and were applicable. I wasn't the only one in tears as I started the lyrics to
Tears in Heaven
, and I had to give up on the singing three-quarters of the way through in order to focus on my playing. When the last notes drifted into the night, I smiled, even as I continued to cry. “I love you, Francois. Now, lend me your strength.”

I looked at Felix, who was also moved by my song, and who'd knelt down next to his brother’s grave, watching me as I adjusted my feet and wiped the tears from my face. “Francois loved this one too, but this song is for you, Felix.”

I strummed once and started the fingering for Aerosmith. It had been one of the first songs I ever played for him and was the song that changed the way we looked at each other. No other song had as much shared meaning between us, and no other song I could think of might unlock the memories buried in his brain.

The first chorus started, and a miracle appeared in front of me. Felix's eyes widened, and he started to mouth along with my, singing, his voice growing in strength and volume as the song continued. By the last chorus, he was singing along with me fully. I let the last note linger, looking at my love as he climbed to his feet and reached for my hand. Francois's guitar slipped from my fingers, thankfully caught by the sling I was wearing, where I unconsciously slid it around to my back.

“Jordan . . . oh my Jordan,” Felix said, pulling me into an embrace. “How’d you know this would bring it all back?”

“I didn’t, but I hoped,” I whispered, holding him and squeezing. “You're back with me now, and I'm never letting go of you again.”