Ilijaz finds little time for romance with Fatima. He looks out for her, though, taking her place in the field when organized actions occur, trying to keep her out of danger. Their shared life ended in September when she moved out of his apartment to join her newly arrived mother and brother in a three-room flat granted by municipal authorities. As other displaced relatives moved into town, the occupancy of her woodsmoke-choked abode grew to ten people. Then forty. A nurse bends over the leg and shaves it with bare hands and a serious expression, ignoring the putrid smell. A tendril of dark hair escapes her blue cloth cap and curls beneath the birthmark on her left cheek. When she finishes, Ejub repeats her work, picking up the razor and inching it up from the blue, livid ankle to the pink, healthy thigh, postponing the inevitable moment when his scalpel will meet skin. Neither he nor any of the handful of doctors who have, over the past few days, made their way from islands of neighboring“free” Bosnian territory to the town of Srebrenica has experience as a surgeon. Ejub cannot recall surgery ever having been performed in this small, Spartan hospital, where women used to come to give birth before the war. No, Ejub is no surgeon, has never aspired to be a surgeon. Although he has talent for fine manual work—he practices woodcarving—his short, chubby fingers make performing even some non-surgical medical procedures difficult. But now he has war experience, having worked as the sole doctor in a nearby Muslim village that was isolated for the war’s first three months. Here, there is no one any better qualified than he, and if he doesn’t try to do something, this young man will most certainly die. purchase brand cialis
Friends of Jim Clyburn
P.O. Box 12567
Columbia, SC 29211