Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (dar e dil novel online reading .TXT) 📗

read Helene Totorcea. “I’m surprised you remember much,” she said.

“I don’t.”

“Why so happy, then?”

“Today’s a fresh start,” he said.

In the Cetatea’s chapel, Benyamin had experienced a groggy epiphany brought on by deep swallows and a mellifluous fire. He’d satisfied the beast within, bought off his demons, and today he felt like a man freed from chains. The coiled desire had abated, and he no longer needed the drink. Not now, not ever again. Of that, he was quite certain.

This morning, staring at his wife’s rigid back in bed, he had decided to change his ways. Dalia deserved better. While she’d overstepped by dumping his liquor supplies, she had only responded out of hurt and frustration. Who could blame her?

“I suppose,” he told Helene, “I’m happy to be starting over. The best tuica, it lays the memories to rest. So there it is. I have no more use for it. I apologize if I left you in an awkward situation last night, but I had to test the quality of the case. I must’ve passed out on the pew. When I awoke, I was curled up and shivering, all alone, but satisfied once and for all.”

“Is that so? I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Multumesc.”

“You’re welcome, Ben. I make it my goal to deliver the best.”

“There is one other thing, you know. A cloudy scene in my mind.”

“Oh?”

“It’s just that you’re a single woman, quite attractive, and I can’t expect you to remain detached from your feelings when we keep meeting like this. Yet, I am married. No way around the fact. And yes, if you don’t mind me mentioning it, I’m quite sure you gave me a kiss before you left the chapel.”

“On your foot, you mean.”

“Your lips, Helene—they’re quite soft.”

“You were nursing a limp. I meant it as a friendly gesture.”

“Good, then. We have an understanding.” He drew up his shoulders. “Maybe in another life, there could’ve been something between you and me.”

“Dear, sweet Ben.” With eyes impish and round, she leaned forward and rested a hand on his arm. A trace of brackish odor reached his nostrils.

Was that him? He should shower when he got home this evening.

“You have only one life to live,” she said. “Don’t squander it.”

Only one life . . . only one . . .

As he left her office, his ears rang with those words. They were barbs, hooked in and tugging. A warning, of course, but also an invitation to come away from the drudgery. What husband didn’t wonder if he still had the goods to snag a desirable woman’s attention? It was a survival trait, an aging male assuring himself he could still attract, still perpetuate his line.

One life . . . Don’t squander it . . .

Had Benyamin done just that? Squandering what had been given him? True, he’d put a roof over his family’s heads, but he had little connection with his son, Dov. It’d been two years since their last camping trip. As for him and Dalia, they functioned more as tolerating flatmates than loving husband and wife.

Dear, sweet Ben . . . only one life . . .

He paused at the end of the hallway, turned, then headed back toward Helene’s office. He would go in, close the door, and make himself available.

One step closer. Two. Left, right, left.

He pulled up short. What was he thinking? How easily an epiphany could fall by the wayside.

He swiveled back around and darted up the stairs to his superior’s office on the third floor. The boss was still in chambers.

Benyamin picked up the phone and dialed Dalia. He caught her as she was coming in from the morning errands. When he apologized for his behavior the previous evening, she broke down in tears. She was a stalwart woman. Never much of a crier. He fumbled with his response, better equipped to handle harsh exchanges than to soothe the sensitivities of a female.

It was a good sign, though. She still loved him, still cared.

“We should go out as a family,” he said. “Every day you cook for us, putting hearty meals on our table. You know, I think it’s time we dine out in style.”

“Are you saying you don’t appreciate the—”

“Not at all,” he cut her off. “I only mean to give you an evening off.”

“Please,” Dalia said. “Don’t kid around, Benyamin. Enough of this.”

“I’m serious. We could go tonight, but I have an appointment, a possible side job to earn us some extra money. Perhaps Friday, then. Dov won’t have any school the next morning, so we can stay out late. Even catch a movie if you like.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Come on,” he said. “Live a little. It’ll be good for Dov.”

“A good example is what he needs, not some filth on the screen.”

He lowered his voice. “It’d be nice to see you dressed up, with high heels.”

“Heels? Honestly, Ben. Are you all right?”

“And maybe a dab of that perfume you used to wear.”

“I . . . Well, it has been months since I let my hair down.”

“I like it long.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Friday, Dalia. Six o’clock? Yes, six should work. I’ll be sure to get off early and come by for the two of you.”

She agreed; then emotion welled again in her voice.

Please, Ben thought, not another outburst. After making it this far through the conversation unscathed, he feared disrupting things with a wrong tone or misfired word. Best to stop while he was ahead. “Good-bye,” he said. And hung up.

Predator and prey. The age-old dance.

“You say she was coming this way?” Erota double-checked.

“Chugging along on those stubby legs of hers,” Domna said. “She’s not fast, but the old cow’s steady. She’ll be rounding that corner any moment.”

Erota and Domna had skipped ahead, anticipating Dalia Amit’s movements. Earlier, the woman had unloaded her groceries at home, then returned on foot to the wide stretches of Revolutiei Boulevard. She was now heading toward this piata, this square, on the other side of the impressive State Theater.

The sisters were seated on a