Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (pdf e book reader .TXT) 📕

“What if we get caught?”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Thiago said. “Get going. I’m counting on you. In and out of there, a sixty-second man.”

“I can’t do it. I . . . I won’t.”

“Hmmm.” The Brazilian coworker pressed his lips together, nodding as though he had expected this. He lowered his chin and moseyed forward. In a flash, one hand clapped around the back of Lars’s neck and yanked him off balance. “You think you’re a big man now, do you? Making your own decisions?”

Lars breathed in short bursts.

“You come to Israel,” said Thiago, “to play in the sand. And then you have the nerve to turn your back on this country’s history.”

“I’m . . . trying to protect it.”

“Of course, of course. Because you think you know what’s best, don’t you? Just like the Americans and the bloody Brits.”

Lars’s thin plea for mercy only fed Thiago’s viciousness. Steel-hinged fingers pressed him down till both knees hit the ground. As the sound of a loosening belt buckle reached his ears, he began to shake. He had run away from home to prove himself, to become a man on his own terms, and now that was about to be taken from him.

His father had been right all along. He was nothing.

CHAPTER

FIVE

Cuvin

Gina scanned the night from behind the safety of the window mesh. Heat still simmered over the fields, and from high in the sky the moon white-washed the cottage and its blue flower boxes.

She could stand it no longer. “Mamica, did you know that man?”

“What man?”

“The one who came to the door earlier.”

“He was simply passing through. There’s no reason to speak of him.”

Gina touched her fresh wound, wondering if she should press the issue. She assumed her mother was oblivious to her eavesdropping, which meant it would be better not to ask about the gift the man had left.

What could it be?

“He had pretty eyes,” Gina heard herself blurt out.

Nicoleta lifted her chin, blinked twice.

Gina knew then she had pushed too far, nudging up to another off-limits subject, thus risking an angry backlash.

“I’ll go get water for dinner,” she said.

Minutes later, she stood at the village well with small, roughened hands clutching the crank. Though towns such as Ghioroc, to the south, offered indoor plumbing, this age-old chore still played out here in Cuvin. She planted her feet, leaned back, and strained against the metal bucket’s weight.

Hard work was always rewarded. Wasn’t that what she’d been taught?

The crank tore open a blister on her thumb, and a moan escaped from her lips. She clamped her mouth shut. What would her widowed mother think if she caught her daughter making a show of such menial labor? Wasn’t a woman’s job to serve without complaint?

Gina rocked back to maintain the crank’s circular motion. Her dress tugged against her thin rib cage.

Although she embraced this task, she wasn’t deaf to rumors of other countries where water flowed from spigots all day long, where electricity was reliable and food was plentiful.

Pebbles shifted behind her. Footsteps.

Jolted from her thoughts, Gina let the crank slip and the rope unspooled in a wild rush. The bucket’s spaa-looosh echoed up through the shaft.

“If that’s you, Teo . . .”

No reply.

Well, she wasn’t going to let that boy get the better of her. He’d won a kiss, but that didn’t mean he could sneak up to frighten her. She grabbed the crank again. “You made me drop it. I hope you’re happy. Now leave me alone while I finish my chores.”

“Young lady, that’s no way to address an elder.”

The voice belonged to Teo’s uncle and made Gina uneasy. Vasile was known for meandering between Cuvin’s brick-and-mud homes with ears bent for dirty secrets and eyes angled for female flesh. Though he was a communist prefect, Nicoleta had warned Gina about this one, told her to stay clear.

She looked back over her shoulder. “Forgive me, comrade. Buna seara.”

“Go on with your work, young lady. Of course, considering your age, I suppose you could use my help.”

“I’m a woman.”

“Yes.” The word rattled in his throat like the purr of a sickly cat. “I can see that you are. I still think you might be grateful for a hand.”

“No, I—”

Concealed by the night, his arms wrapped around from behind and large hands moved over hers. He smelled musty, like damp animal fur. Gina’s throat tightened but she made no sound, and together they drew water from the well.

“See there? Much easier.”

She lowered her head.

“What? No thanks?”

“I must go,” she spit out. “My mother’s waiting.”

“Nicoleta? A severe woman, that one. Very proud. She’d be disappointed to think that her daughter needed my assistance. I won’t tell, if you won’t.”

The prefect’s odor clung to Gina. She felt sick to her stomach.

“La revedere,” she said in farewell.

She tossed her hair and turned, grabbing the bucket from the rim of the well and deliberately banging the metal load against his arm so that bone-cold water doused his sleeve.

Vasile’s expression stiffened before melting into sly approval. “Bine. Very good. Cuvin has enough weak women as it is.”

Gina marched off, letting the sounds of her dress swish away his words.

“Da,” he called. “It’s good to see this toughness from a little girl.”

Her eyes narrowed. Next time she would let the bucket swing lower, harder. Next time Vasile would see just how tough a little girl could be.

Later that evening, she happened upon the Provocateur’s gift.

She’d delivered the water to her mother and gone out to offer a bowl to Treia. She ran a hand over her dog’s head, scratched behind his ears. Earlier, with her own money, she had picked up a tin of oil-packed mackerel at the market, and she peeled it open now so that Treia could dig in. She listened to him snuffle with excitement while eating. He needed her, and she liked that.

When he was done, Gina moved around the corner of the house and dropped the tin into the half-full garbage can.

Moonlight reflections caught her