Page 69 of What Blooms in Barren Lands

“Yeah, but she’s his vife! And she’s ill.”

“She’s not.”

“For months she have no thyroid medication. She is ill.”

“And you’re pregnant! You will get in that jeep, and that’s the end of this discussion.”

“No, I don’t vant special treatment. No, stop, vhat are you doing. Albert that hurts!”

“Why do you always have to argue with me?!”

I shot up from my seat, pulsating with angry blood that raced rapidly through my veins. My mind was still fogged with sleep-deprived haze, but I was no longer sleepy as such, just unable to force my thoughts into a semblance of order.

They were by the vacated vegetable patch. Albert’s hand was burrowed in Monika’s hair, twisting it, forcing her to tilt her head. He was yelling at her, his grotesquely galled face inches away from hers. The spare bows we had were laid by the gate on a sheet of plastic, readied for collection when Jean-Luc would next arrive. In my exhaustion, it seemed so clear what to do ... my head almost empty, my thoughts no longer spiderwebs of possible outcomes and consequences but clear lines, as if only one action and one outcome were possible.

I crept up towards the gate inconspicuously. First, I grabbed a crossbow but shook my head, laid it back down, and chose a bow instead. I was better with bows. I picked up a quill, nocked one arrow to have it ready, and rushed towards the quarrelling couple.

“Hey, Albert. Let her go!” I ordered him.

His ovoid head turned towards me, and his ferret eyes narrowed in rage as he saw me aiming at him. I vaguely realised that people around me were stopping in their tracks to stare. As if for dramatic effect, the sun finally rose over the edge of the eastern mountain shield, and the first rays of sunshine hit the ground on which we stood.

“Mind your own business, you stupid cunt,” Albert spat and shook Monika, still holding her by her hair.

She whimpered, tears in her eyes.

“She’s my friend, and that makes this my business. I said let her go. Now!”

Finally, I understood what people meant when they said they saw red. It was as if the blood vessels in my eyes exploded, flooding my sight and my mind, until everything was crimson, including my thoughts and feelings, even the urge to screech and rush towards him. I wanted to hurt him, wanted to claw his face with my nails, wanted to obliterate him.

“Or what?” He looked at me with a poorly feigned nonchalance. “You’ll shoot me? How do you think that will go for you? Killing me?”

“I don’t have to kill you. Just hurt you enough,” I pointed out coldly. “For the last time, get your filthy hands off her!”

“You wouldn’t dare ...”

I fired the arrow, and it landed a hair’s breadth away from his left foot. Nocked and fired another, this time piercing the loose fabric of his shirt. The final one flew between his legs, almost grazing his crotch.

He stood there, frozen in what I saw with nasty satisfaction was genuine fear. He finally comprehended that if he didn’t meet my demand, the next arrow wouldn’t just damage his clothes. He was afraid of me. Having been released from his grasp, Monika crouched, crying soundlessly, her whole posture somehow reminiscent of a rain-soaked hen.

I slowly became aware of my surroundings and of the murmur all around us, agitated and disapproving. As well the indignant shouts in what I recognised as the Hungarian language.

“You’re a fucking psycho!” Albert squeaked in my direction, encouraged by his peers.

I couldn’t find it in me to disagree with him. I had broken an unspoken yet sacred pact: I fired at one of our own.

I was wholly unsure what to do as the small, faceless crowd seemed to come closer and closer, its noose tightening around me. Then, powerful, unmistakable hands grabbed me from behind, pried the bow out of my grasp, and tore the quiver off my back.

“Einar ...”

“Be quiet!”

He was white as a sheet, the muscles of his jaw rock-tight and his eyes dark.

He tore me from where I stood. I would have stumbled on the stairs except that he practically carried me up. I could feel bruises forming on my upper arms by the time Einar roughly pushed me into the apartment.

“Stay here,” he ordered me, thunderstorm brewing in his eyes. “Don’t you even think about trying to go anywhere, is that clear?”

It was beyond clear.