by Greg Gotti
He heard one of them try the doorknob, and silently cursed himself for having left it unlocked. He had not expected to actually find anyone out here, so he hadn’t bothered waking Maria and having her lock the door. He peered around the corner just in time to see three men quietly open the door, turn on some sort of battery powered lantern, and enter the house. He felt a surge of adrenaline as he knew that the men would soon discover the sleeping Maria, and he doubted their intentions towards her would be noble. It had been too dark to tell if they were wearing uniforms. Were they here looking for him? Were they common thieves or something worse? There was no way of knowing. The Ristas were pigs, of that he was certain. He had heard the stories of the things they did to those poor souls who had the misfortune of having become their prisoner. Every soldier in the Soona army knew it was better to die in battle than to be taken prisoner by the Ristas. He forced himself to think. The element of surprise would be his only advantage. The Rista men were almost certainly armed, and there were three of them. He would have to be decisive and quick. He had left his knife inside, so he had only the two shells in the shotgun to use. He wouldn’t be able to miss with even one of them. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as he crept to the open door, when a sudden cry within the house pierced the silence of the night,
“JOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNN!!!”
John forgot any trepidation he was feeling and shot forward into the house. He could hear the shouts of the men mixed with Maria’s screams coming from her room at the end of the hall. The main room was dark, but the hall was illuminated by the light emanating from the Rista’s electric lantern that cast long shadows down the hallway. The men struggled with Maria as she fought them. She was screaming at them from atop her bed as two of the men finished pinning her down. They were laughing as the small woman desperately fought to break free of them. The three Ristas were speaking in their language, but John had no doubt what sort of things they were saying. He knew that he could run to the door, fire the shotgun and hit all three men, but he could not do so without hitting Maria as well. Two of the men were holding Maria down as the third, a tall, large man with a bushy beard standing with his back to him, set the lantern atop Maria’s dresser and began removing his jacket. He realized he had to act quickly and wondered if he could hold them all at bay with the shotgun. He didn’t know if they would use Maria as a hostage. If they knew John was staying here, they would have been looking all over the house for him rather than simply heading for Maria’s room. He began to feel something like panic building within him as he tried to decide on a course of action. He saw one of the men pin Maria’s neck to the mattress and produce a large hunting knife, which he waved over her face as he mocked her. John saw Maria’s eyes grow large with fear and forgot his uncertainty as his panic was replaced with rage.
He raced down the hall as though he had been fired out of a cannon. His feet felt as though they were barely touching the floor as he shot into the room just as the tall man turned at the sound of his footsteps. He held the shotgun over his head and brought the stock crashing down upon the bridge of the man’s nose. The man fell to the floor without a sound; knocked cold while still on his feet. John swung the shotgun around to aim it at the man with the knife, whose eyes were every bit as big as Maria’s had been just moments before. John saw a thought cross the Rista’s eyes and shook his head,
“Don’t do it!” John warned him.
He positioned the shotgun in a slightly upward trajectory so that he would not hit Maria if he had to fire it. He snuck a glance at the other man to his left, still kneeling next to Maria where he had been holding her down and saw him frozen in place as he stared at him with eyes full of fear. He looked back at the Rista with the knife and jerked the shotgun with a sideways motion.
“Get off of her! That way!” he ordered as Maria gasped for breath.
The Rista had cut off her airway when he had put his knee on her neck. John felt his rage burning white-hot within him. He hated the Ristas. He hated their barbaric ways, their simple-minded focus on the carnal and their obsession with violence. He hated their disregard for simple human decency. He hated everything about them. They were less than human to him, and John wished he could wipe them from the earth in a single motion. He looked at the gasping Maria and felt a sudden twinge of confusion. She was a Rista, yet John cared deeply for her. She was different. She was…
The Rista to his left lunged for his shotgun, and John reacted instinctively like the soldier he was. He moved the barrel away from the man instead of swinging it towards him and spun away in one motion as he stepped back. He brought the gun to bear on the man just as the Rista with the knife launched himself towards him. He crashed into the shotgun and it went off, sending the other Rista flying off the bed and into the wall. He hit the floor as John wrestled with the knife wielding Rista; one hand holding his wrist to prevent being stabbed, and the other fighting to maintain possession of the shotgun. The Rista was bigger than him, but he moved like a man out of control. He turned the man’s wrist so his thumb was down, robbing him of his strength, and launched himself headfirst at the man’s face. The top of his head crashed into the man’s nose, and the Rista cried out in pain. He let go of the shotgun as John twisted the arm holding the knife and drove his other forearm into the man’s elbow. The Rista screamed in pain as his elbow was severely dislocated, and he dropped the knife as John let go of his arm and put both hands on the shotgun. He raised it to aim at the Rista, but the man leapt at him and collided with him before he could bring the shotgun to bear. Both men crashed to the floor with John lying on his back and the Rista on top of him, the gun pinned between the two of them on John’s chest.
The Rista scrambled for leverage and managed to jam the shotgun sideways against John’s throat. John felt his throat being forced shut and fought desperately to free himself. The Rista applied all of his weight to forcing the weapon deeper into his neck, and he could feel himself growing light-headed. He brought both hands to the shotgun and tried to rock it this way and that to free himself, but the Rista now had all his weight behind him plus the force of gravity, and he used his good arm to hold the barrel of the shotgun in place as he pushed down with his knees. He felt his strength ebbing and gathered himself to make one last lunge to roll onto his side, when the Rista suddenly let go of the shotgun and fell to the side of him. John gasped for air as he fought to regain focus of his eyesight. He rolled away from the direction he felt the man fall and brought the gun to bear once more. The Rista had gotten halfway to his feet and froze momentarily before crashing face-first into the floor. John saw the knife buried in the back of his head just under his skull. He looked up to see Maria standing there breathing heavily as she stared wild-eyed at him. He clambered to his feet and held one arm out to her. She ran to him and hugged him as he pulled her close and held her tightly against him.
He held the shotgun in his other hand and looked at the dead Rista on the floor who had just moments before been about to kill him. He felt Maria’s hot breath on his neck, and he kept his arm around her as he held the back of her head. The adrenaline was surging through him, and John felt as though he could out-wrestle a bear at the moment. Maria was trembling as he held her, and John began to cough. He coughed violently as his throat reacted to almost being crushed by the shotgun moments before. He let go of Maria and held his free hand to his mouth as he could not stop coughing. Maria looked at him with concern. John wanted to tell her he was okay, but he could not control his coughing fit. He walked over to where the Rista who’d been blasted with the shotgun lay dead between the bed and wall. The blast had killed him instantly. John felt his coughing come under control, and he shook his head at how surreal the whole experience felt. The three men had…. Wait, there had been three! Where was the other…the large one with the beard? The thought had no sooner crossed John’s mind than he saw Maria’s face register surprise at something behind him. Before she could point or scream, John was already turning around and raising th
e shotgun to his shoulder. The overgrown Rista, his face covered in blood from where John had shattered his nose, launched himself at John just as John fired his remaining shell. The blast caught the Rista about four feet away from John, and hit him square in the chest. The man fell to the floor and was still. John was taking no chances. He brought the shotgun over his head and drove it full force down into the back of the Rista’s head. The man did not move. John stared at the motionless figure at his feet for a few moments before letting out something between a yell and a scream full of rage, sorrow, hate, fear and everything else he was feeling. He raised the gun above his head once more, but before he could bring it crashing down again he was stopped by Maria who simply put one hand gently on his arm. Looking into his eyes, Maria slowly pulled his arm down and took the gun from him. She laid it against the wall, and pulled him to her. They stood silently for a minute, holding each other in the light of the electric lantern. Finally, she let go and stepped back. Picking up the lantern, she motioned for him to follow her.
The sun had not yet peaked over the horizon as John and Maria carried the last of the three dead bodies to the mouth of some sort of deep shaft and threw it in. They had spent the rest of the night after the attack stripping the clothes from the three bodies, wrapping them in sheets of canvas, and carrying them to this old mine shaft to be disposed of. They knew they could leave no trace of their attackers in case anyone came looking for them. They had carried each of the bodies here so they would leave no trail and no one could use dogs to follow their scent to the shaft. They took the canvas back to Maria’s place and washed their clothes in the creek. They then took the canvas sheets and burned them along with the intruders’ clothing. They spent the rest of the day scrubbing the blood from Maria’s room and removing any sign of struggle. Maria mixed some chemicals she had, and the two of them scrubbed her room until the scent of cleaner was so strong it seemed they would pass out from the fumes. They went outside and sat in the afternoon sunshine as the fresh mountain air cleansed their lungs. Maria had brought a pitcher of chilled water, and the two of them drank deeply from their cups as they sank wearily into their chairs. John looked around the trees that surrounded them on all sides. The sun bathed them in a yellow-green warmth as it made its way westward across the late afternoon sky. He thought of the men who had attacked Maria. They obviously had not expected him to be there. He was certain they were not military. He knew military when he saw it, and those men had not moved or acted like trained soldiers. He wondered if they were some type of militia or just locals who had decided to force themselves upon a young woman living alone.
“Estás cansado?” Maria asked him.
John looked at her, his thoughts interrupted by the young woman who now looked at him with a questioning expression. He smiled, and she realized he did not understand. Smiling, she clasped her palms together to the side of her head and pretended to lay her head on them and go to sleep. Understanding now, he nodded his head to signal that he was feeling a bit sleepy. It had been a very long, stressful night, and he had been worried all day long someone would come looking for the three men who had attacked them. He felt reasonably sure they had now removed any trace of the intruders. He sat back in his chair and felt fatigue setting in. Maria continued to look at him with a mix of curiosity and something else. He felt a deep affection for her that he wasn’t trying to fight any longer. He knew she had some type of feelings for him. He wished they could understand each other. They had grown adept at communicating through drawing pictures in the dirt to communicate basic concepts, but there was no discussing something abstract like emotions in such a manner.
Seeming to read his mind, Maria leaned over and picked up a stick. She began to draw three stick figures, which he understood to represent the intruders and another figure off to the side. She pointed at this lone figure and then at John to show that this was him. He nodded, and she continued on to draw several scenes depicting the struggle between them. She combined this with motions and facial expressions, and John understood that she was re-enacting the death-struggle in her bedroom last night. She got to where John had killed the last of their would-be murderers and raised her hands above her head before driving an imaginary shotgun down into an imaginary dead Rista’s skull. She imitated John’s emotional scream from the soul as she raised her hands over her head again before stopping. John understood that this was where she had stopped him, and he nodded to signal his understanding. She held her hands up with her palms raised and looked at him questioningly as though to ask “What was THAT about?”
John understood. She knew he had defended them bravely and honorably, but she could still see something else under the surface. He wondered how it was that she was so intuitive about him. He had no idea how she had come to live here alone or why she had saved him. He wondered what her backstory was; what had brought her to this point? He had no idea. All he knew was she connected with him in a way people who had known him for 20 years could not. He set his glass down on the small metal table between them and picked up a stick. He drew a group of about a dozen figures and then pointed to the three she had drawn. She nodded in understanding; these were Ristas. He then drew another group of figures that he pointed to and then patted his chest; these were Soona. She nodded and looked on interestedly. He then drew off to the side a male, a female and a much smaller figure. He then pointed to the large male and patted his chest again. She looked up surprised and pointed at him with her eyes full of questions. He nodded; this was him. He then pointed at the little figure before forming a cradle with his arms and rocking an imaginary baby. Her eyes shone with interest, and she pointed at the little figure and then up at John. John nodded; yes, this was his son. She pointed at the female figure and then to John. He saw something strange in her eyes; not jealousy, maybe more like hurt or disappointment. John nodded again and Maria looked away. John stopped and looked at her puzzled. She looked off into the distance; she was looking at nothing in particular, just staring.
“Maria?” John said inquiringly.
She looked back at him accusingly and suddenly John understood; the kiss. She thought he was still married. John took the stick and drew a female figure lying under a tombstone with a cross atop it. He drew a male figure next to it shedding tears and pointed to himself. Maria’s eyes grew wide as she understood. Her look turned to one of sympathy, and she reached out to touch his arm. John looked into her eyes. He saw so much softness; so much tenderness in this strong mountain woman. He felt a tug at his heart and quickly shrugged it off. He didn’t want to take advantage of her. He felt confused about what he was feeling. He had spent so many years hating the Ristas, yet here he was living with one. He was tired of fighting to avoid falling for her. He looked at her as the sunlight shone on her olive skin. She was beautiful. He hadn’t found her that way when he first saw her. But now as he looked at her, he found her more beautiful than he had found any woman since…..
John yanked his eyes away from Maria and began furiously drawing once more. He hated that he felt guilty. Vanessa had been gone for this long, yet he still felt as though he were betraying her with his feelings for Maria. He pointed at the small figure of his son and raised his hand palm down to show that he had grown up. Maria nodded her understanding, and he began to tell her his story through pictures. His son had grown up and joined the Soona army. He had met the Ristas in battle and fought honorably and won many battles. He drew two men side by side and showed Maria that this was him and his son. She smiled at him, and he continued. His son had gone off and become a good soldier. He showed him rushing in to meet the Ristas in fierce combat without him. Maria smiled as she looked on. She obviously knew these were her people they were fighting, but still she smiled at him. Her eyes shone as she watched him. John looked back at the ground and sadly drew one last picture; a gravestone with a cross and a small stick figure beneath it. He hung his head and stared at this for a few moments. When he finally looked up once more, Maria saw the tears forming in his
eyes. Her smile disappeared as her hand shot to cover her mouth. She let out a short, sorrowful sound. She understood. She understood John’s rage, his pain, his anger. She realized the burden he carried, and she suddenly understood a great many things.
Maria set her glass down on the small table and rose to her feet. She went to him and gently took the stick from his hand. She laid it on the ground and took his hand; gently pulling him to his feet. Clasping his hand tightly, she led him out of the gentle, warm sunlight and into the house. The smell of cleaning chemicals still filled her room, so she closed her bedroom door. She went to both the front and back doors and locked them. Turning to him, she sat on the couch and held out her arms. John hesitated only a moment. He felt the ache, the pain of losing his boy, and he practically rushed to Maria’s side. She embraced him and he buried his face in her neck as the sobs came. He could not hold back. Maria’s arms tightened around him, and she pulled him close as sobs rocked his body. His tears streamed from his eyes, pouring onto Maria’s skin as she pulled him even closer. Maria held him until his convulsions subsided, his tears subsided, and sleep took him. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, falling asleep still holding him close to her heart as the sun dipped below the distant mountains to the west.
The next evening, John sat on a large rock and surveyed the vast expanse of the valley to the north. The setting sun had slipped below the mountains to his left and painted the clouds a brilliant red. The land between Maria’s mountain and the river was filled with trees. There were hardly any places where he could see the ground. He had no way of knowing where there was danger and where he could safely escape to his own territory. He furrowed his brow as he thought. By now, his people would have assumed him dead. John wanted that to bother him more than it did. He thought of what it would be like for him to never return to the Soona. There was no one waiting for him there. His wife and son were dead along with his parents. John was alone in the world. He had nobody left who truly loved him. He was a soldier with only the war to live for. He remembered the feeling it gave him when Vanessa would lay her head on his chest and fall asleep. He had loved her so much that her death had almost broken him. It was his love for his son that had sustained him through that dark time. His son had not taken his mother’s death well, and he had become colder and more savage in battle. John had shown his boy much love through that time; all the way up to the day when John’s commanding officer had come to his house to give him the horrible news.
