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B
y the end of his first year in the outpost, Paolo had seen more death
than many would see in a lifetime. Some of it was natural. There were
those whose bodies gave out during the rough winter weeks, unable to
sustain themselves on meager amounts food and alcohol. It was like their
insides collapsed, no longer strong enough to hold themselves together.
But most of the death was not that which God had premeditated; it came
at the hands of those men who thought themselves gods. Day after day
the outpost commanders sent small groups out into the forests and
surrounding towns to scout out any hidden undesirables. If found, they
would have to come back and alert a commanding officer and meet the
rest of the group by the soldier’s barracks. Here, the captives were bound
at the hands with a coarse rope; it would cut through their skin with its
thick fibers, sometimes drawing blood that tainted the light brown a sharp
crimson. By this point, the captives were usually sobbing, if they hadn’t
been already. Many screamed, some angrily. Voices barking at the soldiers
inCroatian, cursing themand the country they represented. Some shrieked
out of terror, high-pitched and hair raising noises that ripped through the
silence of the surrounding trees. Some were silent like those trees. Eyes
stayed still, unfocused and glazed over, mouths shut tightly, white from the
pressure of being sealed.
There was always a soldier per captive. The captives were then lead to the
stream, where theywere lined up and forced on their knees. Their feet were
submerged in the edge, sometimes freezing their toes, causing some of the
weak and old to cry out in pain. Many would have tears running down their
faces now, fear looking for an escape from their insides. But they wouldn’t
know fear until the soldiers pressed the barrel of a rifle to their temples.
Real fear was the cold metal touching the soft patch of skin that was
slightly indented on their skulls, knowing that on the other end there was a
finger resting on a trigger. Hatred was the feeling of the men whose fingers
were forced to be on the trigger towards the commanders. Emptiness was
the life leaving the limp victim’s bodies. Real emptiness was pieces of their
souls being chipped away at carrying out their duties.
Paolohatedhimselfnow.Hethoughtofhimselfasamurderer. Hiscomrades
were made villains because of their loyalty to their country and their fear
of following orders. Any dissentersmet the same fate as undesirables. That
was the last kill Paolo was in charge of: one of his own. The boy’s name was
Claudio. He was only sixmonths younger than Paolo, but had the stature of
a thirteen year old. His frame was thin and willowy- his height was barely
over 165 centimeters (5’5”). Despite his physical weaknesses, Claudio had
a heart of steely resolve. Once his mind was set on something, there was
no convincing him otherwise. Because of his strong hearted will and good
nature, he and Paolo became close. Paolo had always been drawn to people
with good morals, a tendency which stemmed from his desire to emulate
them. The two found confidence in each other to express the hatred they
felt towards their superiors and the useless murder and war. The type of
talk that could get them killed.
One day, a search party came back with an undesirable. A young and frail
woman. As usual, everyone was gathered for the execution. Paolo and
Claudio were shoved to the front, with many of the younger boys trying to
stay unnoticed behind them. The soldier holding the gun to the woman’s
head looked towards a superior officer, who was standing in a corner,
watching the crowd of soldiers. By this point, Claudio had looked away.
“Stop,” said the superior, his strong voice silencing any noise from the
group. Everyone’s head turned towards his except Claudio, who kept his
eyes trained on the ground. The superior walked right up to him, until he
could see the man’s shiny black boots. A hand forced his chin up, until two
pairs of eyes met, one filled with arrogance and another with hatred. “You
will do it.”
A soldier handed a gun to Claudio, then ran to take his place in the crowd.
He was relieved to be freed from his duty. The superior led Claudio to the
woman by the arm who sneered in cruel delight. Claudio threw the gun
down.
“Do it.”
There was silence as Claudio stood motionless. Suddenly, the man turned
and grabbed Paolo. He took the gun from the ground and pressed it into
Paolo’s hands.
“Kill him. Kill him or I will kill you both.”
Paolo looked at Claudio in panic. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He would die
first. Claudio looked up at him and smiled. He nodded, and mouthed to
Paolo ‘Kill me, please.’ Paolo shook his head. He wouldn’t. ‘It’s okay.’ He
shook his head again. ‘Please.’ The superior grabbed Paolo’s hand, gun and
Carlotta Verita
Carlotta Verita