Читать книгу The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry - Charley Brindley - Страница 14

It was almost dark when they walked into the small clearing, two miles away from their camp on the river.

“My God,” Sharakova said, “what happened to him?”

“He was tortured,” Alexander said. “A slow, painful death.”

Six members of the platoon, along with Tin Tin Ban Sunia and Liada, stood looking down at the body. The rest of the platoon had stayed in camp, with Kawalski.

A dozen foot-soldiers waited nearby, watching the surrounding woods.

Autumn took a yellow and blue scarf from an inside pocket to cover the captain’s genitals, at least what was left of them.

“Goddamned animals,” she whispered as she spread the scarf over him.

“Did they do this because we killed so many of them on the trail?” Sharakova asked.

“No,” Alexander said. “He’s been dead for several days. I think they killed him as soon as he landed.”

“They must have seen him coming down and captured him when he hit the ground,” Autumn said. “But why did they have to torture him like this?” His body was covered with numerous small wounds and bruises.

“I don’t know,” Alexander said, “but we have to get him buried. There’s not enough of us to fight off a major attack.” He glanced around at the darkening woods. “Not out here.”

“We can’t bury him naked,” Sharakova said.

“Why not?” Lojab asked. “He came into the world that way.”

“I’ve got a Mylar blanket in my backpack,” Joaquin said, turning his back to Sharakova. “It’s in the side pocket.”

When she removed the tightly folded blanket, a long object fell from his pack. “Oh, sorry, Joaquin.” She knelt to pick it up.

Tin Tin Ban Sunia noticed the shiny instrument, and her eyes widened. She nudged Liada with her elbow. Liada saw it, too, and it was apparent both of them wanted to ask about it but decided this wasn’t the right time.

Sharakova handed the instrument to Joaquin, and he brushed dirt from the polished metal, then smiled at her. “It’s fine.”

She spread the silver blanket out on the ground, while the others started loosening the dirt with their sharp knives. They began digging the grave by hand. Tin Tin and Liada helped, and soon the hole was three feet deep and seven feet long.

“That will do,” Alexander said.

They placed the captain’s body on the blanket and folded it over him. After they gently placed him in the grave, Autumn stood at the foot of grave and removed her helmet.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…”

The others removed their helmets and bowed their heads. Liada and Tin Tin stood with them, looking down at the body.

Autumn finished the Lord’s Prayer, then said, “We now commend our friend and commander to Your hands, Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” the others said.

“Sarge,” Joaquin whispered as he held up the shiny flute that had fallen from his backpack.

Alexander nodded, then Joaquin placed the flute to his lips and began to play Ravel’s Bolero. As the somber notes of the music drifted over the twilight clearing, the other soldiers knelt to begin filling the grave with handfuls of dirt.

Liada, too, knelt, helping to cover the dead captain.

Only Tin Tin Ban Sunia and Joaquin remained standing. As Tin Tin stared in open-mouthed wonder at Joaquin playing the music, her right hand moved as if by its own accord, like a creature coiling and blindly feeling for something in the leather purse at her hip. She lifted the old wooden flute she’d made at Carthage, eleven years before.

Joaquin noticed the movement and watched as she took the flute in her fingertips. His hands, though scarred and powerful, danced a delicate ballet over the silver keys. Tin Tin waited until he paused, then she put her flute to her lips and began to play.

The others seemed not to notice the notes of the music as they worked on filling the grave, but Joaquin certainly did—she was playing, note-for-note, Bolero exactly as he’d played it a few moments before. He began his music again, matching her place in the song but playing an octave lower than she.

Autumn looked at Tin Tin, then at Joaquin. She smiled as tears ran down her cheeks, then she smoothed the dirt over Captain Sanders’ grave.

It was after 9 p. m. when they returned to the encampment.

“We go to find Cateri,” Liada said as she and Tin Tin turned to leave the soldiers of the Seventh.

“Okay,” Karina said. “See you later.”

* * * * *

It was a somber evening that night by the campfire. Kawalski had come around while the others were taking care of Captain Sanders. He felt a lot of pain, but he shook his head when Autumn asked him if he wanted another shot of morphine.

“That stuff knocks me for a loop. I can live without it.”

Karina told Kawalski how the captain had been tortured to death.

“Damn it,” Kawalski said. “Now I’m glad we killed twenty of those nasty sons-of-bitches.”

“A couple hundred, you mean,” Karina said.

“I’m talking about me and Liada. Man, is she good with that bow. And when she ran out of arrows, she grabbed my rifle from the ground and used it for a club.”

“Yes,” Karina said, “after the battle, I helped retrieve her arrows. She was deadly.”

Fusilier took some MREs from the weapons container. “Who wants menu 7?”

Lojab raised his hand, and she tossed it to him.

Everyone sat on logs around the fire.

“Menu 12?”

“I’ll take it,” Sharakova said.

“Menu 20?”

No one was very enthusiastic about a cold meal, but a few of them tried to eat.

“Hey, Sarge.”

“Yeah, Sparks.”

“Look who’s coming.”

Alexander saw a wagon coming toward them. “That looks like Cateri.” He got to his feet, dusting off his trousers.

“And she has someone with her,” Fusilier said.

“It’s Tin Tin and Liada.”

Autumn greeted them as they rolled to a stop. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Tin Tin said.

Liada jumped down from the wagon and went to Kawalski, who was struggling to get up.

“Need arm.” Liada took his arm and placed it around her shoulders.

“Yes, I do need help.” He held her tight as he took a few wobbly steps.

“Come see.” She guided him to the back of the wagon.

“Wow,” Kawalski said. “Hey, guys, come take a look at this.”

In the bed of the wagon was a large iron pot filled with steaming grain and chunks of meat. Beside it was a dozen round loaves of bread, along with several bowls carved from wood.

Cateri reached to pull the pot to the edge of the wagon bed, then slipped two long wooden handles through metal rings on the sides of the pot.

“Here,” Alexander said, “let me help you.”

She said something that sounded more like “whatever” than “thank you” as they lifted it together and carried it to the fire.

“This really smells good, Cateri,” Alexander said as they lowered the pot to the ground by the fire.

Cateri shrugged and brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face as she removed the wooden handles from the pot and took them to the wagon. Alexander watched her walk back toward the fire, where she untied the leather string at the back of her neck, letting her hair fall. Thick and long, her shiny brown hair fell below her shoulders. She held the leather string in her teeth while gathering the loose strands together, then tied her hair at the back. She brushed by Alexander to go help Liada and Tin Tin as they broke off chunks of bread and passed them out with the bowls they’d filled from the pot.

“We are sorry,” Tin Tin said with hand signs, “for loss of your Sanders.”

“Thank you,” Autumn said and made the hand sign. “All of us are grateful to you and your people for helping us. How did you know he was our man?”

“Um, he have no…” She rubbed her cheek, then touched her hair.

“Ah, yes. He didn’t have a beard. Most of your men have beards.”

Tin Tin filled her own bowl and took a seat on a log next to Sharakova. Tin Tin looked at Joaquin, caught his eye, and smiled. He grinned and took a bite of food.

“What is this meat?” Autumn asked Liada.

Liada said something and made a hand sign.

Autumn shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Tin Tin,” Liada said, then asked her a question.

Tin Tin thought for a moment, then mooed like a cow. Everyone laughed.

“Ah, we’re eating moo meat,” Autumn said. “It must be beef, or maybe ox. It’s very good.”

“Too bad,” Kawalski said. “I thought maybe it was…” He made the sound of a horse whinny, then pawed the ground with his foot.

Tin Tin and Liada laughed with the others.

“I was thinking ‘woof woof,’” Zorba Spiros said.

“Or maybe ‘meoooooow,’” Kady said.

Kawalski almost choked on a bite of food, which drew even more laughter. Cateri, who rarely even smiled, laughed at Kawalski.

Karina touched Liada’s cheek. “Why did they brand you?”

Liada shook her head. “Not know what you say.”

“Brand, why?” Karina touched her own cheek and lifted her shoulders.

Tin Tin, sitting nearby, heard their conversation. She spoke to Liada, who asked Zorba Spiros in Greek about the question. He explained that Karina wanted to know how she got the mark on her face.

“I did brand,” Liada said, touching the scar.

“You?” Karina pointed to Liada. “You did this to yourself?”

Liada nodded.

Tin Tin came to sit beside Liada. “This is…um…” She touched her cheek where she had a brand identical to Liada’s, but on the opposite side of her face. “Can not say this word.” She made a motion of working with a hoe, then she stood and made a motion like hitting someone with a whip.

“Slave?” Kawalski asked. “Is she trying to say ‘slave?’”

“They can’t be slaves,” Karina said. “They have the run of the camp and do pretty much what they want.”

Cateri, sitting in the dirt at the end of one of the logs, spoke to Tin Tin, who lifted her shoulders.

“They’re trying to figure out how to tell us something,” Karina said.

Joaquin stood and made the motion of hoeing the dirt, then of carrying a heavy load. He stopped to wipe his brow, then pretended to show fear of someone nearby. He grabbed his imaginary hoe and got back to work.

“Slave,” Karina said, pointing to Joaquin.

“Yes, slave,” Tin Tin said.

“You and Liada are slaves?” Karina asked.

Tin Tin shook her head. “I was slave to Sulobo…”

“Kusbeyaw,” Liada said. “Sulobo, kusbeyaw.”

“Tin Tin was a slave, and she was owned by Sulobo?” Joaquin asked.

Tin Tin and Liada seemed to agree.

“Yes,” Karina said. “And we all know what a kusbeyaw is.”

“Yzebel,” Liada made a motion of taking coins from her purse and handing them to someone.

“Yzebel bought Tin Tin.” Karina said. “Go on.”

“Sulobo.”

“Ah, Yzebel bought Tin Tin from Sulobo.”

“Yes,” Liada said.

“How old was Tin Tin?” Karina asked. “Was she a baby?” She pretended to rock a baby in her arms, then pointed at Tin Tin.

“No,” Liada said and held out her hand at chest height.

“Tin Tin was a young girl, and who is Yzebel?”

Liada rocked a baby in her arms.

“Yzebel is a baby?”

“No. Liada is…um…”

“Liada was a baby?”

Liada shook her head.

“I think Yzebel is Liada’s mother,” Joaquin said.

“Oh, I see,” Karina said. “Yzebel rocked Liada as a baby. Yzebel is your mother.”

Liada held up two fingers.

“You have two mothers?”

Liada held up one finger, then two. Pointing at the second finger, she said, “Yzebel.”

“Yzebel is your second mother. And were you a baby when Yzebel bought Tin Tin from Sulobo?”

“No.” Liada held out her hand at chest height.

“You were a young girl when Yzebel bought Tin Tin?”

“Yes. And we…” Liada hugged Tin Tin close, tilting her head to her.

“You were like sisters?”

Karina held up two fingers, wrapping one around the other. They both nodded.

“Sulobo branded Tin Tin when he owned her?” Karina asked.

“Yes,” Liada said. “And I think for me to be like my sister, Tin Tin Ban Sunia, so I do this.” Her hands told the story quite clearly.

Karina sniffed and wiped her cheek. “I-I-can’t…”

“Imagine?” Joaquin said.

“I can’t imagine…”

“A bond so strong, one would have herself branded because her sister was branded as a slave?” Joaquin said.

Karina agreed.

Silence reigned for a few minutes.

“Something so powerful,” Kawalski said, “makes the simple routines of our lives seem trivial.”

“Cateri,” Liada said, “is Sulobo slave.”

“What?” Alexander asked.

“Yes,” Tin Tin said.

“Cateri,” Alexander said, “you are Sulobo’s slave?”

Cateri said something to Liada, who spoke to her in their language. Cateri then loosened the drawstring at the collar of her tunic, and Liada pulled the back of the tunic down far enough for them to see the slave brand on her right shoulder blade.

“Damn,” Kawalski said, “how could someone do that?”

Karina touched the scar. “So cruel, but her brand is different.”

“Yes,” Joaquin said. “Liada and Tin Tin have an arrow across the shaft of the pitchfork. Cateri’s brand has the pitchfork with the snake winding around the shaft, but not the arrow.”

“Why is that?” Karina asked.

“It’s a running brand,” Kawalski said. “In the old west, when a cow was sold, or stolen, they had to change the original brand to something different. They used a running brand to alter the old brand. That arrow on Tin Tin and Liada’s brand is a running brand, added to show they didn’t belong to the original owner.”

“These women are treated like cattle,” Karina said. “Bought and sold as if they were animals.”

“Sulobo,” Alexander said, “that son-of-a-bitch.”

Cateri adjusted her collar and tightened the drawstring. She then turned to leave them.

“Wait.” Alexander took her arm to stop her. “Don’t go.”

She faced him.

“You don’t have to be a slave. Slavery was outlawed two hundred years ago.”

Cateri glanced at Liada, then Liada looked to Autumn for help in explaining what Alexander had said.

“Hmm,” Autumn said, “how can I say ‘freedom’ in sign—”

Lojab interrupted her. “I’ll buy her from Sulobo.”

“Yeah, Low Job,” Kady said, “you’d like that, owning a woman. You idiot butthead.”

“I don’t think the Seventh Cavalry is going to own any slaves,” Karina said.

“You stupid women,” Lojab said, “you’re all pissed because nobody would pay money for you.”

“Eat shit and die, Low Job,” Katy said.

“Knock it off, Lojab,” Alexander said. “That’s uncalled for,” he said as he watched Cateri walk away.