The Balkan Air

By Aydin Kavara

Alexander starts his life in a pre-birth Heaven where souls wait to be assigned an identity and sent to Earth. As a lousy student, he struggles to follow the heavenly authorities' formal instructions. By a strange turn of luck, he is sent to a town in Bosnia and Herzegovina called Herontown (Capljina). He falls in love with the beauty of Herzegovina and meets Ronnie, who offers him a way to stay even though he is supposed to return to Heaven. Alexander is born to a Muslim family as Ahmet. And the adventure begins...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350939231

Book preview

BK90084762.jpg

Copyright © 2024 Aydin Kavara

The Balkan Air

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters are imaginary,

and any resemblance to actual people is accidental. However, certain events, dates,

and incdents in The Balkan Air represent historical facts of which the author

has first-hand knowledge and personal experience. This book describes the personal

views and opinions of the author. It does not necessarily reflect the positions or opinions of any organization, institution, or individual with which the author is affiliated.

Print ISBN: 979-8-35093-922-4

eBook ISBN: 979-8-35093-923-1

Printed in the United States of America

The art of knowing is knowing what to ignore.

Rumi

The art of imagination is knowing what to obey.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1. My Soul in Heaven

Chapter 2. My Family

Chapter 3. Hus

Chapter 4. The Seaside Cove

Chapter 5. The Aberrations

Chapter 6. School

Chapter 7. Muslims

Chapter 8. Distractions

Chapter 9. My Grandparents

Chapter 10. Mischief

Chapter 11. That is Back

Chapter 12. The Institution

Chapter 13. The Release

Chapter 14. Heating Up

Chapter 15. The Seacoast

Chapter 16. Load of Fun

Chapter 17. Back to Herontown

Chapter 18. War 2

Chapter 19. The Showdown

Chapter 1

My Soul in Heaven

My journey began in the supremely spiritual realm. The first thing I remember after my inception in the celestial factory of souls was seeing the magnificent universe stretched under me like a plane on a drawing board. The rows of heavenly beings radiated warm white light on the glowing white platform. Their contours could be discerned from the intersections of light that bathed the entire edifice from every direction but below us. The dark face of the universe covered the floor, like a piece of solidified shiny black marble that was once poured from some blazing hot vessel.

In this realm, the souls see the incredible variety of worlds just by glancing at an area of the plane below. When I looked down, the constellations of stars and colossal black holes filled me with the wonder of the universe. I felt small as I was swept by the dense darkness of one of those black pits that swallowed entire galaxies in their wake.

Birds with sleek white feathers crisscrossed the pure white mist separating Heaven's bottom floor from Paradise above. Many of them were resting on gourds made from light stretching from the fog above to the black floor, where it sat twisted into several coils. Directing my attention to the ceiling above filled me with holiness, peace, and constancy, while looking down generated feelings of fear, anxiety, and uncertainty.

The world from Heaven seemed like a flat surface because souls don’t travel from great distance but to and from another dimension. Two rifts resembling stair escalators on each side of the heavenly platform served to shuffle soul traffic to and from the earth. The souls traveling down behaved most orderly, while those returning to Heaven had difficulty adjusting to the new environment.

Some of these souls were left on the podium to wander around and inspect their surroundings. As if fearful of falling in and drowning, they tiptoed about. Others, finding nothing familiar to their previous abode, were utterly disoriented. They bumped into each other like billiard balls, ricocheting off one another in a world that did not conform to their expectations.

The souls that were destined for earth were trained first. This process involved instilling concepts about art, science, and religion in our knowledge bank. Sense of beauty, basic logic, and ability to feel holiness were imprinted on our blank slates. After souls completed their training, we were told our future names on earth and the coordinates of our future residence during an official ceremony.

When the date of my transfer to the earth came, I remember finding myself in a line of souls leading to a gate inhabited by several burly deputies made from exceptionally bright light. There was no option but to bow when facing them. The gate revealed a rotating earth from one side in its entire splendor. At the gate, one of the attendants asked for the name and the coordinates of one’s future home. I listened to the procession of souls declaring their designations - Alberto Mendoza 19 99, Joseph Nriagu 8 10, Xi Lo 39 116 - all names perfectly fitting the intended place of birth.

As I considered all the future possibilities on earth, I was in front of a large block of blinding light.

NAME AND NUMBER! shouted the light as I stammered incoherently.

I thought, Wait a minute! I needed some time to compose myself.

But he bellowed again: NAME AND NUMBER!!!

The souls behind me began protesting, and I just remembered the first name I was given in class and blanked on the rest.

Alexander, I stuttered.

I looked down on the earth, spinning in front of me like some object in a game of chance. I took a stab at two excellent numbers and said: 43 17.

Next, I remember fluttering in a dream-like state, swirling in unison with clusters of distant galaxies above the verdant valley between the rocky mounds and steep cliffs. I was pretty sick from the travel, and my insides hurt. It felt like awakening from a long sleep. I remembered my first name, but the rest didn’t come to me.

I loitered among scattered rows of palm trees, poplars, and willow trees with long hanging vines sagging to the ground, making terrific shade on grass surfaces. Tree canopies swayed in the warm southern wind while obstructing the view to the deep blue sky above, littered with bright white clouds. I could not but fall in love with garlands made from willow tree vines fitted onto the flowing hair of youngsters I saw. The continual laughter of the children increased my curiosity about this place. I climbed to about 12 stories in height to see exactly where I was.

The many kinds of waters among the mountainous karst made me think of this place as some lovely oasis. I looked at the green, calm, and rushing rivers, sprawling marshes covered in windflowers, cute ponds, lakes, and mesmerizing sea in the bluish distance, and I congratulated myself on my choice of destination.

The world from below is more beautiful than above, I told myself.

I decided to peruse some more of these idyllic settings and noticed that two rivers flanked the valley I found myself in.

The smaller of these two waters curved around obstacles that served as quaint swimming spots. The yells and shouts of children and adults frequenting these spots could be heard from a kilometer away. People jumping from bridges, walking atop the dams, hanging out in the pub located atop the barge, and sun tanning gave the place an exuberant energy.

The bigger of the two rivers to the east forcefully carved itself into the mountainous, arid gravel and aptly hauled off anything that came its way. Downstream, it became docile like a ravine covered with pebbles made from worn, rounded rock shining from its depths through the pristine layer of bristling, wavy streams.

All sorts of animal life kept this river company. The swarms of swallows resembling acrobats in frock coats zoomed upstream and meteorically raced to the sky and back. They resided in nests made of dry grass and twigs under the bridges. On each visit, they tucked flies and bugs into the bellies of their offspring with remarkable sprightliness. The tree roots spanning into the water created shadowy bays where frogs, turtles, and snakes swam harmoniously. However, the white and grey herons were the most conspicuous wildlife in this wondrous refuge. These birds were casually spearing herrings and green minnows with their long bills while wading through the shallow river.

I decided to explore the paths in the southern direction and headed down the craggy trail through the mountains toward the seacoast as though I was enchanted. It was a misty and rather chilly morning, I noticed. Village folk lining the racks along the dusty road with watermelons, peaches, plums, and grapes were clad in long-sleeved, colorful shirts and grey pants.

I pulsated down the winding road through a mighty mountain range. This mountain hugging the coast soared to the sky with its barren oversized cape made of wavy, disordered grey stone. Desolate rock cliffs on the top gave way to the stripes of land covered with sparse vegetation and hanging terraces housing tomatoes and herbs. Coniferous trees grew on the bottom part of the mountain, meeting extremely docile sea waters because the groups of islands were shielding it from the turbulent open sea.

I approached the coast gradually. Sea scents invaded my every pore, and a grand, wavy blue tinge opened as if I were an ant stumbling across some gigantic slab of sapphire. The mystery of this object transcended all powers of my comprehension.

I returned to the small town on the banks of the giant river. Several rows of four-story buildings with red balconies occupied the town center. From far above, the entire place looked like some undefined spit of brick and cement atop a layer of vegetation discharged from some giant architect of urbanity. Where the town stopped and the village began was not apparent here. I saw little patches of home-grown tomatoes, lettuces, and flowers on the balconies and gardens adjoining the buildings while machinery and cars lined the roads of the outlying villages of the town.

This charming place that I found through serendipity injected me with the desire to stay here, yet I could not do that because I did not yet have a body I could suitably occupy. A large queue of souls lined up at the hospital door, waiting to be infused into the little newborns, and I felt envy.

It got late, and I was deeply disappointed because I had to leave and ask for the coordinates, time, and date of my destined birth. I was desperately wandering through the streets until I saw an exciting fellow leaning on the side of a building. A wavy, trimmed layer of hair covered his scalp as though it wasn’t his, and dark spectacles concealed his squinting eyes. He was short and wiry. The white shirt he was wearing said:

Fulfill your dreams.

He pointed at me with his finger and curled it slowly towards himself three times. I stopped. I was surprised, amazed, really, and pointed towards myself.

Yes, you! He mouthed with his lips.

Hello, he said and ceremonially continued with:

I gladly welcome you to our neck of the woods, as usual, but wonder why a proper soul like you roams the streets away from the hospital and other dignified staff? Perhaps you will inhabit a gypsy belly in the shacks by the woods? True, a soul like yours might raise their prospects, ameliorate their squalor, and lift their spirits. You have been chosen for a noble cause, my friend.

His body contorted with every emphatic phrase he uttered, as if each word was tailored.

No, I said. Unfortunately, that’s not the purpose of my visit; I am here only by mistake, honestly.

What is your name?

I am to be called Alexander.

Hahahaha, he laughed heartily. You are a lost soul, aren’t you?

Well, Heavens will show me the way, I said as I tried to hide the sadness in my voice. He picked up on this and put his arms around my shoulders.

Are you sure you want to do that, my friend? Are you aware of what kind of winds blow up there in Heaven, what type of administration has taken root, and what sort of riff-raff roils in the holy offices? Have you considered in whose hands you will entrust yourself, soul? I have a better plan for you. Much better! You will be heavenly taken care of if you listen to my advice.

Mister, I said, what is your name?

You can call me Ronnie.

He put one of his arms around my cloudy shoulder, and with the other, he pointed to the window of one of the apartment complexes across from the hospital, next to the river.

I saw a brown-haired woman in a long dress made from violet velvet cloth lifting boiling laundry cauldrons from the stove to the bathtub.

Lad, she is pregnant but doesn’t know it yet, Ronnie said. And I suspect she will have another baby miscarriage.

There is a strong possibility that the baby will not be born, but what does that have to do with me?

You can’t be inane enough not to see the wealth of possibilities, he added: Aren’t you thinking what I am thinking?

What?

Don’t be a fool; you must know what I think. It would be best if you rejoiced, kid because no soul is waiting for that poor chunk of doomed flesh. And do you know what type of opportunity this is for you?

I scratched my now bushy cloud and stared. I felt on the verge of finding a ticket to paradise.

What do I do, I asked rabidly, what do I need to do?

To get ahold of all this, all you need to do is throw a lifeboat to that chunk of meat inside her, Ronnie said.

How do I do that?

Ronnie put his arm around me while whispering into my ear. After I listened to everything he had to say, I thanked him.

Ronnie, you are my savior!

His lips stretched around his parched gums into a prodigious smile as he said:

You will be so happy in this refuge of beauty and goodness!  

I sneaked into the woman’s apartment at night. Inside, I noticed beige furniture upholstered in linen with puffy pillows and a big red teddy bear. The brown wooden cases covering the walls contained vases, china, and figures of towers. The wall was decorated with pictures of bridges above green waters and a stern-looking guy with a crooked hat. On the balcony were stacked bicycles, shelves with vegetables, and tools.

The young woman was preparing for sleep in the next room, slipping into a white gown and releasing her bountiful brown hair. I circled her several times slowly because I wanted to analyze every feature. She was of medium height, with oversized breasts planted on her fragile frame. Her eyelashes swooned up and down beneath threaded eyebrows. The radiance of her face reminded me of those mysterious creatures that zigzagged the heavenly floor. Her ears had the shape of the seashells I saw on the coast. I was baffled.

In the wee hours, I commenced to execute my carefully drilled plan. I sneaked into her dream while the young woman was turning in her bed, wrapped in a comforter with embroidered covers.

I brought up a specter of the laundry cauldron the young woman habitually carried. This time, it contained a baby inside its scalding water. It was a dreadful sight, enough to torment even those with the most refined ability to handle these horrors. The baby’s eyes were popping out of the sockets, and its skin was flailing while it softly uttered, Mom, mommy….

She could barely get up the following day, and this bewildering condition continued the day after that. The doctor was called.

The young woman explained to the doctor last night’s startling mores and her inability to forget the vivid dream. The doctor administered a pregnancy test and prescribed staying away from lifting heavy objects.

I had executed what I childishly thought was a perfect crime. I saved an empty vessel destined for nobody in the stranger’s womb from certain doom and, when the appropriate time came, inoculated myself in there.

I made some difficult decisions here with Ronnie's help. Of course, I could have petitioned the supremely hectic heavenly authorities to take me to my intended destination. Still, I decided this new path held something novel and original for me. I was pretty content with where I chose to dwell because just thinking briefly about what Ronnie said about the cadres employed at the soul designation committee gave me chills. One could scarcely expect any justice from these disorganized, inefficient, blundering, clueless functionaries of the heavenly administration.

I have chosen my path on this earth. I felt pretty good about myself, proud, holy juices streaming through my resplendent cloudy being. I cast the dice and boldly charged into my unknown future. It felt great to have accomplished something as terrific as saving a life even before being born, even though it gave me shudders when I thought about the fate of the body I was supposed to occupy and the grief-stricken parents whose child was born with a blank expression on its face.

I addressed Alexander also as though he was a separate person with the following words:

Dude, sorry for the inconvenience to you and your family. I am happy where I am. I hope that you will be fitted with a supremely blessed soul because, self-interested as I am, you probably deserve better.

The day came, and I was chilling in my mama’s stomach, swimming in its copious fluids, banging on the soft tissues, and anticipating when I would finally be expelled from there. I was eagerly sucking on the nutrients from the chord stuck to my belly, and a fissure in the wall suddenly appeared. A tiny column of light shot through the fuzzy liquid, and a blinding crack opened, letting in the warm air streams.

I slipped through the gooey opening from darkness into the hands of the attending physician while energetically objecting with my loud infant squalling to his handling me upside down. I was frantic when they put me under that cold shower, for the first time sensing the pain from my newly developed fleshy contraption. Then they wrapped me up and gave me to my mom. I eagerly bathed in the loving embrace of my beautiful mother and cherished the sight of her flowing hair.

Oh, my dear Ahmet, she said as she stared into my face with tears.

Chapter 2

My Family

I woke in the middle of the night by the shrill nursery cries. I tried to act, but the blanket swaddling entirely restricted my movements. It was pitch black in the nursery, and a faint sliver of light was coming through the smoky, grey blinds. I couldn’t see the ceiling in the dark because it was enormously high. Shiny, rough plaster covered half the wall, while the other half was a discolored, matted white lime. Figures in white uniforms entered the room and randomly placed babies in painted metal cribs. I kept staring from the darkness. The faint smell of urine and feces combined with disinfectant bestowed on this strange place a unique, repulsive feel that made me want to run away.

This was my first encounter with the outside world. Suddenly, I asked, What did I get myself into?

I wanted to wriggle free, but the budding heap of flesh, bone, and connecting tissue in which I was embedded did not allow me to move. The door creaked open, white light from fluorescent lamps blinded me, and I emitted a dull cry as one plump nurse in a viscose-linen uniform turned to the other and said:

Look at our new Pioneers.

Perplexed by this new terminology, I moved my head back and forth. The taller one approached me and turned over the tag underneath my crib. She glimpsed through her thick eyeglasses and read with clinical exactness: Ahmet Kantarevic.

Then she hurriedly exited through the door, shutting it with vigor, leaving me alone in the dark to wonder:

"What’s a pioneer, and what’s Ahmet?"

In my family, it was evident to everybody that I was an intelligent child. I seldom screamed for food but opened my mouth wide and shook my head in an expression that meant come over here. I devoured milk from my mother’s breasts with ferocity. And the feeling: it was such bliss to be in the arms of one’s mother, to absorb her warmth as she breathed down into my tiny face, to feel the softness of her swollen breasts. I felt like the happiest creature alive and showed it with deep, contented sighs.

Oh, you fools in Heaven, I said to myself, I hope you rot in hell if you intended to rob me of this blissful experience. There can be no other mother like mine!  

Her name was Zerina. She had a pale, white complexion, big brown eyes, and small ears flattened to her skull. Her broad shoulders were layered with fat over delicate, soft muscles. There was suppleness in her posture and her walk, and her movement through the world was seamless, as though she treaded on feathers. Her voice rose to a high pitch when she was unnerved by my constant inability to pay attention to one thing submissively. When I cried profusely or coughed, she immediately picked me up, spoke to me gently, placed rags on my forehead, or appeared infinitely worried. When she became overly tired, she put me in my crib and expected somebody else, such as my father, to take care of me.

My father was a handsome and cheerful fellow by the name of Murat. He had black hair and a large forehead. His shoulders were broad, and he moved with a robust and purposeful gait. He’d don his clothes in the morning and disappear from the house. I didn’t see much of him until he barged in from nowhere, lifted me in the air, tumbled me up and down, then carried me left and right. To me, this haphazard care was frightening, and at first, I made a dreadful grimace, pleading with him to let me go. Then, this big, nasty nuisance moved on to my gentle mom. He wound his arms around her, kissed her, and caressed her in front of me, just like I was not even there.

"Stop it!, I thought. Stop it! Enough of all that."

I was annoyed, but they gave me a yellow plastic duck and a pacifier while they did their business. There wasn’t much opportunity for them to be alone because of the sedentary lives of my grandparents, who lived with us. But, occasionally, when grandpa went to tend to his plants in the orchards, it overlapped with grandma’s trip to the market or her chatty neighbors, my mother would put me to sleep with my favorite method. She sang me a song. These soothing tones strummed the deepest chords of my being because, as a soul, I have never experienced anything as beautiful as this.

The songs would put me into a kind of trance state for a while, lull me in a sweet spell whose nature was just an aftereffect of my mom’s song. I saw the lights of paradise and flowers in bloom. I heard the echoing laughter of children. These harmonious dreams put me at such ease that I became unaware of my parents’ disappearance into the room. Eventually, the smell of emptying my bowels put me down from this bliss. Or the loud banging of bags full of foodstuffs jamming through the door in my grandmother's hands. She’d release gasps from climbing the stairs, remove her coat and oversized dark sunglasses, and go straight for my crib, babbling in infant-speak.

What’s the little one doing? Have you been suckling, little Ahmet?

In the span of one year spent suckling, pooping, gurgling, and cooing, my cheeks swelled, and I gained quite a bit of weight. As my mom held me in her arms, my desire to know manifested itself in constant attempts to divert her attention by tugging her chin toward what I wanted to learn with my extended hand, usually while she was trying to hold a conversation. I knew the names of everything and wanted to explore even outside. I had every reason to think venturing outside would be even more excellent.

As a result, as soon as I became proficient at crawling, I seized an opportunity to explore my surroundings. I used my rear-end technique of first lowering my legs down the steps, followed by my upper body. I sneaked through the building hallway into the courtyard in the center of four large buildings with balconies strewn with clothes. Little cement walls