Field of Blackbirds, Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen [historical books to read TXT] 📗

blocking the blow. Then swiftly used his other hand to grab her shirt and jerk her toward him. The second man, who was not as big but twice as unsightly, grabbed the pot from her and threw it down. The first man snapped at him,
“Quiet you fool. Are you trying to wake the camp?”
The man pulled her in tighter, forging his knee between her legs. Milla could feel his rancid breath landing on her skin. The stubble on his face scratched against her neck. He moved upward toward her jaw line.
“Soft and sweet.” he muttered.
By now Sofi was far enough away, Milla screamed as she plunged the fork into the side of the man in front of her. She wasn’t sure it actually penetrated his jacket but he folded to the side and winced in pain. The second man grabbed Milla from behind and covered her mouth to stop her from screaming. The larger man then pulled the fork from his side and exploded upward, firing his right fist into Milla’s stomach. She’d never felt that kind of physical pain. It hurt everywhere. She gasped for air. She tried to scream again, but almost nothing came out and what did was muffled by the large, rotten hand covering her mouth. Milla dropped her weight and tried to curl into a ball. The smaller man stepped to the side. The Larger fell down on top of her, bringing his weight with him. Milla tried pushing him off but she wasn’t strong enough. And now the second man was pinning her shoulders to the ground. The larger man clumsily reholstered his knife at his waist and began tugging on Milla’s clothes. The more she resisted the more forceful they became.
Milla had been through too much to surrender what was left of her dignity to these vile dogs, trespassing all over her innocence. She wouldn’t give in. When she was halfway unclothed, when they were distracted, she would strike again. If she was going to teach Sofi to be strong in a world where outside forces were so unforgiving, then she had to earn her credentials. When the moment was right, Milla unsheathed the knife on her attacker’s hip and stabbed it deep into his leg. She felt the flesh part all the way to the bone, where the knife abruptly stopped.
Like a wounded bear, the man screeched sadistically, dispatching a stomach full of vile breath onto her skin. Milla tried to work herself free, but was met with blunt force to the side of her head. She fell flat against the earth. Her head throbbed. Everything started to spin. She tried to fight the sensation, but it was too overwhelming, too abrupt. She lost all strength. Everything went black before she drifted out of consciousness.

************

Milla had only been out a second or two when she heard the men struggling. Her vision improved to a blur. But there were three men in the tent. The third man was waving a shovel around as though it was King Arthur’s sword, a bit too heavy. The man began cursing at Milla’s attackers as each swing connected with their bodies. Each thud sounded like an angel whispering into her ears.
The frailness of his stature, the raspyness and shake of his voice and the struggle to keep his body up without support, assured her of her hero’s identity, Josif. When the old man saw enough blood, he threatened the two of them. He told them if they even, so much as, glance in Milla’s direction, she would be the last thing they saw. The two picked themselves off the ground and staggered out of the tent.
Josif took a moment to catch his breath, now using the shovel for support.
“Are you okay Milla?” he gasped.
“I’m okay Josif.” she replied humbly.
“I couldn’t save them. It happened all too fast, Milla. Before I knew it, they were gone. I wish I could have protected them. I would have fought my heart out.” Tears rolled down his face.
“I’m sorry about your family.” Milla whispered. She reached for him. “You saved my life Josif. Thank you.”
“I wasn’t alone,” admitted Josif. “There’s a scared little girl in my tent. Put yourself together and come get her.”

************

A few long days had past since that night, a night where innocence and virtue were sealed, and a night where heroes, both young and old, where manifested. As Milla wondered why her hopes for a normal life lay in derelict, one truth was engraved in stone; her alliance with Sofi was infinite. They had each been there for each other when fate was handling their lives carelessly, when stillness and joy had been slain in open view.
Milla hoped to see Ibrahim soon, hoped to leave the camp and get closer to Split. But refugees without transportation were sure to get stopped somewhere along the way. There was no telling which areas were still held by the resistance or had been taken by the Bosnian Serbs. Milla heard that the refugee camps, once known as safe havens, were getting attacked more and more. In a way, she felt like a target waiting for contact. Milla hated to think she would lose another entire semester of school to this new imposing heartbreak. She wondered when her life would be back to normal, wondered when, merely being a human being, was a good enough reason to escape the unsympathetic blows of hostility, when the sun could rise and fall over one nation, blind to indifference. She wondered when she could reunite with the simplicity of basic struggles like homework, what to wear to school, what to do on the weekend. She even wondered whether or not it was time to relinquish her guard on love and trust. Milla rested for a moment, letting the possibilities stoke the fires of her imagination.


Chapter 25 – Sanctuary


Milan Italy, 1992

Antigo pulled over to the side of the road. He turned off his lights when he saw Marianna get out of the taxi. He then concealed his gun at his waist and made his way across the street, making sure to stay out from under the street lamps. He watched as Marianna climbed up to a second story apartment. Antigo reached the stairwell and hid himself in the shadows. He tried to remain as quiet as possible as he waited, watched. Marianna knocked on the door. Antigo drew his gun. He heard movement coming from inside.

When the door opened, it was Dmitri, wearing a white, tank-top undershirt and blue slacks. His jaw dropped. His mouth began moving as if he was going to say something, but the words never came out. Mariana stepped forward, raising her hand. ‘Smack’, she slapped Dmitri right across his face. Then she took the letters and threw them into his chest.
“I’m sick of your threats!” Marianna screamed. “I deserve to have a normal life! I deserve to have my husband!” She placed her hands on her stomach. “I deserve to have this baby! I want my life back! You’re not going to take it from me!”
Antigo prepared for the worst, but Dmitri just stood there with the same face. Only now it was decorated with a large red mark increasing in size. Not quite sure how to respond, Dmitri rubbed his face for a moment, looked down at the letters, looked back at Marianna and then, he closed the door. Mariana stood there for a moment longer, amazed at what she had done and then turned around. Antigo quickly ducked underneath the stairwell. Marianna never saw him. He watched her get back into the taxi and then he headed back to his car. Antigo waited there, across the street. For four hours he watched. Dmitri never left his house. Finally, Antigo went home. Marcielli always treated Antigo like a brother. This was the least he could do in return.

************

For the first time in months, Marianna slept through the entire night. Not remembering what she dreamed was a good sign. As she went about her day, Marianna was taken back by the vividness of it all. Life seemed to squeeze its way out of a bottle top. The sun was brighter, the trees and grass greener, the buildings taller and her tummy, rounder.
Marianna decided to skip class today and just enjoy Milan the way she once did. She had, in a sense, found sanctuary, even if only in her mind. She escaped the straight jacket, picked the shackles and slipped through the bars. She eliminated her greatest foe. Not Rico and Dmitri, but fear; fear of the unknown and fear of not being strong enough. She was no longer drowning. She had reached the shore and was warming herself in the blanket of freedom. She didn’t know what her future held, but she finally felt that destiny had found its way back to her. Her life was back in her own hands. Marianna was confident she could fulfill her role as wife and mother.
Marianna hadn’t made it made it all the way down Via Filodrammatici, when the famous theater, ‘Teatro Alla Scala’ caught her attention. Outside there was a fussy group of school children waiting impatiently to get in. The headlining play: ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ - ten dollars a seat. It so happened to be, Marianna had exactly ten dollars in her hand bag. She’d seen the play when she was a small girl. What better way to celebrate, than to partake in the joy of life’s simple things?
Marianna’s excursion lasted into the evening. She thought of Marcielli the whole day. She decided to write him. The bravest thing she’d ever done, she could never tell him. But she did feel it was time to let him in on some of the little things; one little thing in particular.


My Dearest Marcielli ~

I am writing you now, uncertain of where you are or what you are