The Last Green Valley - Mark Sullivan (black female authors .txt) 📗

of crashing into one of those critical targets on the human body that will take a man to his knees or leave him sprawled and unconscious; with a weapon, preferably, but if not, then with the heels of the hands, or the outer forearm, or the shins leading, because these bones were unlikely to break easily. Emil had also noticed that once these fighters had decided on their weapon and target, they rushed to get close to their opponent, attacked immediately, trying to smash into the one and only spot as they threw their entire weight through the other man.

It’s how a David can beat a Goliath. Emil stopped thinking of the man opposite him as a human. He became a shadow, the shadow man. Raising his body erect, Emil lifted his arms and rushed the shadow man, trying to make it appear as if he were going high and for the head.

Emil caught the shadow rising and, with his left forearm locked before him, went low at the last second, exploding forward off the balls of his feet, feeling his elbow and forearm smash into the bigger man’s torso near the bottom left of his rib cage. He swore he heard ribs break along with the grunt the man made as the air was blown from his lungs. Emil felt his own shoulder wrenched as he crashed through the shadow man and sprawled facedown on the snowy ground beyond him.

Hearing moans and gasps of pain, Emil got to his feet, the calm gone, the adrenaline pumping now, allowing him to ignore the fire in his now-useless left shoulder, and to see the shadow man on the ground in the snow near the garbage can, arched to his left side and writhing, unable to think about anything but pain because his lower ribs were broken and his liver had been bruised.

Emil had seen another man deliver a similar blow in a food riot in November and had never forgotten it. And the shadow man had said he’d kill Emil if he went for the garbage can.

Stepping by the writhing form, Emil used his good right arm to pick up the can by its handle, and then walked away before his humanity and concern could return. He felt he owed the man nothing.

Several blocks later, in another alley, behind another house, the snow began to taper off. Emil took shelter in an empty woodshed that caught a slat of light from a window. He pried off the lid from the can and meant to set it down quietly. But the stench of rancid animal fat hit him, and he dropped it with a clang, fighting not to gag as he stayed frozen for a full minute before forcing himself to tilt the can into that slat of light and look inside. Whatever pork gristle, ham rind, or soup bone there might have been was now coated in rancid grease.

In another time, in another place, Emil might have thought about returning to the alley where he’d left the shadow man and going through with his burglary plan. But that weaselly voice inside his head stopped him, asked, How badly do you want to survive?

It took only a moment for Emil to shift his entire perspective in life, to harden top to bottom before he made this silent reply: I will do anything to survive.

He steeled himself, then began plucking items from the can and licking the rancid grease off them. He would be nauseated and sick soon, but he did not care. If he could keep enough of the fat down, he’d have enough strength to go to the creek bottoms in the morning.

Chapter Six

Late March 1944

East of Dubossary, Transnistria

Adeline awoke in the dark to the sound of cannon fire. Not far. Eight, maybe ten kilometers to the northeast, close enough to throw orange flashes in the lower sky. Horses began to whinny and to nicker as shouts went up in the darkness. A vehicle approached. A voice came, amplified and crackling.

“Raus! Everyone up! The bridges at Dubossary are clear of eastward traffic! The trek leaves within the hour!”

Adeline scrambled to get her sleepy boys ready and fed and their bedding stowed. More cannons fired. She felt sick to her stomach. They had to move, but they couldn’t go anywhere until Emil had the horses in their traces.

As she set out cold bread and water for the boys’ breakfast, she looked over at her husband and saw him moving in the lantern light, head and shoulders slumped as they’d been too often lately. After yesterday, after leading them to safety, he should have been walking around with his shoulders back and his chin up. She longed to see Emil like that, bright-eyed and ready for anything, the way he’d been when she first met him in 1934.

Life had been hard for him in the decade since, for the both of them. But when had he begun to change? When had he started doubting everything?

Adeline’s memory flickered to a February night in 1935 when money had floated out of the darkness to her. She had been outside their apartment building in the bitter cold, racked with pain, and empty of tears. Through an open window above and behind her, and for the first time since she’d known him, she had heard Emil choking and sobbing in despair.

We both doubted God that night. How could we not have?

But, Adeline decided, that night wasn’t when he changed into the man working with his head down among the horses. That night wasn’t when her husband had seemed to lose faith in anything but himself and his own backbreaking will to work.

Adeline thought about it some more. And then she suspected she knew, seeing herself light a lantern not long after their return to Friedenstal, in September 1941. They were living in Karoline and Johann’s house while Emil built their home at the other end of town. Walt was