What We Can't Forget

By Linda Saether

"What We Can't Forget" follows three young people through the horrors of WWII and into the aftermath where the world doesn't want to remember what they can't forget.

Brutally torn from his family and a life of privilege in Yugoslavia, Milo Ivanovic despairs when Nazis force him and his fellow captives to carve a route through trea

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Sep 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885046930

Linda Saether

Linda Saether is a Norwegian/American physician, blogger, and playwright. She is intrigued by many historical eras, and writes with the goal of bringing her readers into the midst of her character's challenges and struggles. She particularly enjoys writing about women who find they have the strength and ingenuity to overcome adversity and thrive in societies often determined to suppress them.

Book preview

What We Can’t Forget

Beyond the Blood Road

Linda Saether

new degree press

copyright © 2022 Linda Saether

All rights reserved.

What We Can’t Forget

Beyond the Blood Road

ISBN

979-8-88504-577-3 Paperback

979-8-88504-921-4 Kindle Ebook

979-8-88504-693-0 Digital Ebook

I dedicate this book to

Bojana, Jovan, Milan, Jovanka, and my mother,

who inspired this story,

and to my children,

who inspire everything else.

I also dedicate this book to the victims of

the Blood Road and their families.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

---

The true stories that inspired this book were told to me around dinner tables a very long time ago when I understood the gravity of what I heard but didn’t have the heart or the foresight to ask the deeper questions, which may have lent more accuracy to the pages you are about to read.

With the utmost love and respect, I tell this story and beg forgiveness if anyone feels my creative interpretation has overstepped in any way.

PART ONE

THE WAR YEARS

CHAPTER ONE

ADRIJANA

---

Sokobanja, Yugoslavia 1941

Nothing had prepared her for this.

Adrijana Ivanovic sat at her father’s bedside, waiting for his heart to stop and hers to break. It would happen soon, for his breaths had slowed over the last hour.

She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him as he lay there so ominously still in the large wrought-iron bed. He was dying in the house his father had built, in the bed he had shared with his wife for the last twenty years. It was the same bed Adrijana and her brother Milorad had jumped into as children, often awakening their parents before dawn. Their mother may have groaned, but their father had always gathered them into his massive arms, laughing as memories etched themselves into their young minds.

She sighed, tucking away thoughts of happier times. She should have paid more attention and carved each moment into something she could hold on to because now all she felt was untethered and vulnerable.

This was not supposed to happen so soon. She and Milo were just on the brink of adulthood, and at barely forty, their father should not be nearing his end.

He looked nothing like he had only a few months ago before the cancer he thought he could fight started to ravage his body.

Despite his sunken cheeks and dreadful pallor, his hair seemed rudely unaware of his dismal condition as dark locks danced in the breeze streaming in from the open window.

Her eye caught rays of the afternoon sun inching across the window sill and watched as obtrusive brightness filled the room. She wanted to bolt from her straight-backed chair, yank down the shades, and snuff out the unwanted glare, but the woeful hum of her mother’s prayers kept her in her seat.

Next to her, Milo folded his arms across his chest, his muscles tense against the crispness of his starched shirt. His profile was so much like Papa’s.

Papa and Milo had the same broad faces, strong jaws, dark eyes under thick brows, and mouths that rarely stopped talking. They could both fill a room with their presence and melt a heart with a smile, and they had athletic statures they came to by birth rather than relentless training.

Townspeople were already saying that Budimir Ivanovic would be missed. It irritated her, for he was still here, although it had been more than a week since doctors had said they could do no more. They had scurried away, leaving the family alone to the drone of Father Djordje’s reading of the Psalters and their mother’s prayers.

Without Papa, their family would be fractured, and the entire community would miss the man they looked to when someone was in need or there were festivities to be attended. His voice had become as legendary as his generosity, but now that too would be silenced.

She wasn’t ready. She never would be.

Soon they would be left with sorrow, for all the events of their lives—good and bad—would take place without him. Without his encouragement and without his steadfast guidance, they would have to continue alone.

Adrijana watched as her mother ended her prayer and crossed herself before walking away from her rose-shaped kandilo. The vigil light, with its single flame faithfully afloat on a bed of oil, was kept on a shelf in the bedroom. Surrounded by images of saints and icons, it was always lit, but only her mother seemed to find comfort in it now.

Seeing the tenderness in her mother’s eyes as she gently wiped her husband’s face with a cloth dipped in cool water made Adrijana’s heart ache.

Jovanka, her father said, his eyes fluttering open.

Adrijana gasped.

I am here, her mother said and bent down to kiss him, smiling at him as if she didn’t know that soon they would never look into each other’s eyes again.

The thought was unbearable.

Father?

Adrijana slid forward in her seat, hoping he would turn to her, but his eyes closed, and he said nothing more.

This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t leave them yet.

Adrijana elbowed her brother.

Milo turned to her, his eyes questioning.

Sing to him, she said in a whisper.

His brows furrowed.

Now? Should I?

Their mother had pleaded with them not to distress their father with their tears or mindless chatter, but it hadn’t stopped Adrijana from laying her face against her father’s chest when her mother dozed off during the night. As she listened to his unsteady heart, he had reached a feeble hand up and stroked his fingers through her hair. She had felt more love in that single gesture than ever before, and she was certain that not even her hair would forget it.

Milo glanced at their mother.

Jovanka had been a beauty that Budimir Ivanovic had courted with unwavering determination. Twenty years later, people still marveled over the pure delight these two had in each other, but now the light had left her eyes, and the softness of her features had become sharper.

Yes, do it, she said, her voice raspy. If he can hear you, it may bring him comfort.

If he can hear him? The thought didn’t seem possible. Her strong gregarious Papa, reduced to this skeletal being before her, might not even hear them now? Adrijana swallowed hard, trying to squelch her urge to protest as Milo stood and began to sing.

His voice was thick with grief, but it was beautiful. Like Papa, he was comfortable when he sang and moved freely about the room, singing as if the melody rose from his soul. Letting the sound flood over her, she dropped her shoulders and took a deep breath, allowing herself a calm she hadn’t felt in days.

When he finished, Milo sat back down next to her and they continued their vigil as long hours passed, a minute at the time.

Servants, who became tearful as they entered the room, brought them bread and pasulj, the hearty white bean soup their father loved, but even Milo turned it away.

Studying her father’s eyelids, hoping for the faintest flicker of movement, Adrijana wondered if he would ever awaken again. It was already days ago that he had told her he loved her and then turned to Milorad to tell him he would soon have to take his place as the man of the house.

Milo had been taken aback, but he regained his composure before Papa could notice. I will look after Mother and Adri, he had said. And I will do my best to become everything you expect of me.

Papa had tried to smile, but it was a mere twitch of his lips.

I am proud of you, my son, he had said, trying to reach a hand up to Milo.

Adrijana had watched her brother straighten and wondered if her father knew what this meant to Milo, for it would carry him through whatever life might bring.

The memory flooded her with gratitude. Every emotion had been so intense these last few days. Even something as small as taking her father’s hand in hers gripped her in a way she had never imagined.

After a while, Adrijana stood, leaning over her father to kiss the hollow of his cheek, but her mother put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Come and sit, she said. Don’t hold him back. He must be free to take his leave. We must show him that we have accepted the inevitability of his departure.

Adrijana sat and took to counting her father’s breaths again, feeling panic rise inside her when his chest no longer moved, but then he took another breath, and she felt oddly comforted until her mother stood.

It’s happening, she said, clenching her fists and pressing them against her lips as if she could stifle a cry seeking release.

Adrijana and Milo rose slowly. Adrijana wondered how her mother could be sure, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off her father.

She waited, relieved when her father took a breath, but he did not take another.

Their mother reached forward, laying her hand on her husband’s chest and closing her eyes as she whispered a prayer. When she stepped back, she seemed to swoon, but Milo caught her and helped her to her chair.

Adrijana attempted to move, but her legs didn’t budge, and she could barely breathe. Forcing herself forward, she sank down at her father’s side.

Oh, Papa, she whispered, unable to say more as she took his hands and folded them across his chest.

His brown eyes were still open. They used to twinkle when he looked at her, but they were dull now, staring into nothingness.

Reaching forward with a trembling hand, she put two fingers on her father’s eyelids, pulling them down to close his eyes for a final time. It was harder than she expected, and her insides ached at the thought that she would never look into his eyes again.

The lids didn’t seem to want to close, but she held them down until his lashes lay flat against his skin and let go.

* * *

After their father’s funeral, their home filled with family and friends. There seemed to be food and drink in every nook of the sprawling parlors, and the dining room table was filled with platters of grilled meat, sausages, and salami of every kind along with cheese, roasted red peppers, and bread fresh from the ovens.

In the midst of the table sat a large bowl overflowing with fruit and topped with white grapes. For a moment, Adrijana remembered sitting in her father’s lap when she was little, reaching for grapes that had been in that same bowl. Memories like that taunted her every moment of the day now.

Blinking away the tears, she looked to her brother.

Milo stood with the bearing of a soldier, receiving guests and graciously accepting their condolences. He had matured much in the last weeks, as if the weight of his father’s words had already made a man out of him, but looking closer, she recognized the tension in his lower lip that kept it from quivering. It was something only his twin would notice, she thought, wondering if Papa and Uncle Sasha had known each other that well.

Glancing out from the parlor, she caught sight of her mother sitting on the balcony overlooking the town of Sokobanja below. She hadn’t taken the chair she usually occupied, but the seat next to it where her husband usually sat in the summer afternoons. She had her hands on the armrests, clinging to them while her usual group of lady friends surrounded her. They were nice women from prominent families whose husbands now hovered around Milo or spoke between themselves in small groups. Many had severe expressions on their faces. Adrijana knew them all.

Several of their cousins had arrived too, but she felt too dazed to speak to any of them. They had seemed to understand and gathered on the steps leading to the front lawn, where they talked between themselves.

As she walked stiffly through the rooms, surrounded by chatter, she picked up snippets of conversation.

Budimir will be missed…

He was a great man…

Such a shame, he was so young…

Adrijana swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure, but then another line of conversation caught her ear.

The king in exile… someone said.

It’s only a matter of time before we have Nazis at our doorsteps, another added.

A communist like Tito has no chance against the Ustacha. He will feel the terror of the Croats before the Nazis invade.

Adrijana sighed. They were relentless in their gloom, these men.

The king can’t reclaim the crown with a Nazi invasion and a civil war going on at the same time.

Our boys could be forced to fight brother against brother, depending on who could seize them first for Chetniks, or Partisans, even the Ustacha, would rush to have them conscripted into service before they could fall prey to Nazis.

Adrijana shook her head and meandered to the open terrasse door, breathing in the fresh air of the summer night as if it could fill the emptiness inside her.

Old men’s worries that never amounted to much had never interested her. Men seemed to have something dreadful to discuss each time they met, which she usually ignored until they rose to their feet, looking as if they were about to deliver blows to each other. That wouldn’t happen here within the silk-covered walls of her parent’s drawing rooms, but she had often seen it when she walked past locals sitting outside coffee shops, arguing passionately about some imagined threat.

Why would Nazis come to Sokobanja? Wasn’t Sokobanja too small a town for the Third Reich or this Broz Tito to be bothered with? There were other places in Serbia they could conquer, surely. And why would the king need to escape, for couldn’t a king have put an end to these mad assumptions if they were remotely true?

When the guests had taken their leave, their Uncle Sasha sat with them for a long time, but none of them could say anything to lessen their unfathomable pain.

In time, we will look back at my brother with a smile, not a tear, but for now, all we have to do is survive one day at a time, Uncle Sasha said, turning to each of them.

Jovanka had looked up at him, her dark eyes void of their usual glow.

Don’t you mean seconds, Sasha? I can barely live through the space between them.

Milo’s eyes filled with tears, and Adrijana wished she knew what to say, but her heart had never hurt so badly, and the world had never seemed such an empty place.

When her uncle was about to leave, he had embraced each one of them. Adrijana had dug her face into his wool jacket, comforted for a moment, for his embrace was so much like Papa’s, but then, when remembering that he was not her beloved father, she sobbed.

I will be back soon, but in the meantime, be strong for your mother. Can you do that, dear girl? Uncle Sasha asked as he released her.

Adrijana nodded, wiping her tears as she watched him leave. At the door, he turned to give her a little wave before he vanished, leaving her standing in the foyer listening to the sound of his engine as he drove away.

When the maids left for the evening, the house felt eerily quiet, but Adrijana joined Milo and their mother in the parlor, where she sank into one of the richly upholstered damask chairs that had been bought on last year’s trip to Paris. Their mother had taken great pride in their sumptuous décor, but nothing seemed to matter now.

Adrijana was exhausted in a way she had never experienced. Sitting made her want to lie down, but then she would be too weary to stand up and walk up the stairs and down the long corridor to her room, where she could fall into her bed and forget everything until morning.

Papa would have been surprised. She was just as athletic as both him and Milo, and although she was a distinctly feminine version of them with her large eyes, long dark hair, and a leaner frame, she was always the one who had boundless energy.

We will have fewer visitors now, after the funeral, their mother said. And in time we will have to find our way back to a normal life.

Adrijana rubbed her eyes and looked up at her mother in disbelief.

There is no normal without Papa.

Her mother sighed, tucking a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. She was considered a beauty, but she looked drawn now, and there was no light in her eyes.

We have no choice, her mother said.

Milo had his elbows on his armrests and tapped his fingers absent mindedly, but apparently, he had heard them.

From what I have heard tonight, there is trouble to come, he said looking at them both. And with Papa gone—

His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

We will manage, their mother said.

Her eyes were weary, but Milo shot up from his chair.

Nazis will be invading us. Broz Tito claims that his Communist Party will overthrow our king, and Croatians have endorsed claims from German racial theorists that they are Germanic and not Slavic, so their Ustacha government is perpetuating the Nazi race ideology with genocides not only against Jews but Serbs and Romani as well. They could come for us.

Adrijana rolled her eyes.

How do you know this, Milo? Tell me you haven’t become an old man overnight. This is what the elders talk about in the coffee shops, and they look like they could kill each other. I even heard Uncle Sasha and a few others talk about this tonight.

Their mother nodded.

They are not wrong. I just don’t have the strength to think of this now.

We don’t have the luxury of being tired, Mama, Milo continued. War is coming whether we are ready or not, and it is coming from places we can’t predict.

Something about her brother’s eyes startled Adrijana.

Milo, you’ve been drinking Slivovitz… I saw it on the table. Your mind has gone off somewhere. Papa said you were too young to drink.

Milo shot his sister a stern look.

Stop it, Adrijana. Don’t be foolish. This is serious. We have to have a plan. No one knows what can happen or when.

Adrijana gasped. Never had her brother been so grim or so adult. Now she wished she had taken a sip of plum brandy herself. It seemed to make people agreeable, but it was hardly a solution.

Her mother stepped in before she could come up with a retort.

I can’t think another thought. Please, go to your rooms. I cannot bear it another moment.

Milo and Adrijana rose and kissed their mother.

Good night, Mama. Is there anything I can bring you before we go? Milo asked.

Their mother shook her head.

No, just go. I want to be alone.

They walked silently up the stairs and made their way to their opposing rooms, where they stopped, and Adrijana gazed up at Milo.

You don’t really believe that the Germans and a civil war will come to Sokobanja. Do you? Wouldn’t the Chetniks fight to protect our kingdom?

He looked at her with the same luminous brown eyes their father had had and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

Sleep. You don’t understand. We will call Uncle Sasha and talk more tomorrow.

Adrijana’s lips tightened.

So, you believe all of this. Why would they come to a small town like ours? There are certainly more interesting places to conquer.

Now Milo looked tired too.

Who owns the vast expanse of land behind our property?

The king, Adri said hesitantly.

And who owns the largest munitions factory in Serbia?

Adrijana’s eyes widened.

Father does, she said, hesitating. We do?

Milo nodded.

"I don’t know if these are reasons. War requires weapons, and the king has many interests in this town other than