AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She met the brown-eyed woman whose toothless smile infected her with happiness. Daria knew this woman had probably suffered horribly with no dental care, through the aching pain of infected teeth. Then someone, probably a fellow villager, pulled out the tooth with a pair of pliars to relieve her of her suffering, without any pain killers available. Juanita’s hands were large, calloused, her fingers delicate as they held the alpaca sweater she was knitting. Daria smiled warmly and gave her a gentle hug of hello.
Juanita waddled back to her old, dilapidated metal chair, setting her latest knitting project down on the seat of it. Then she turned and came back over by the boxes of fresh produce, excitedly chattering away in broken Spanish peppered liberally with the Quechua language, talking about each of them. Daria stood back, listening and watching Nik politely chatting with the native woman. Juanita wasn’t surprised at all when the Ukrainian spoke her language, and so they switched away from Spanish and into pure Quechua. As they conversed, Juanita picked up an ear of corn and peeled back the green leaves, showing Nik huge kernels, each the size of nickels, all down the length of it, telling him this was good corn that had just come from Sacred Valley, two thousand feet above their current location. And then she brought out long, healthy-looking green beans, breaking off one, giving it to him to eat. Daria had no defense against Nik at this point. He was fully invested in the moment with the charismatic Juanita who was more like the ringmaster of a circus than a simple villager, who patted and pinched his cheek like he was a much-beloved son of hers who had come for a visit. Daria watched him chew the green bean thoughtfully and nod and praise Juanita for the flavor and juiciness of the vegetable. And then he bought a pound of them from her.
This process went on for at least ten minutes until Daria was standing there with a number of brown paper sacks of fresh produce gathered in her arms. She saw Nik give Juanita many more Peruvian Soles than what she asked for and saw the old woman’s eyes tear up as she saw how much money she held. Nik was generous, no question. He cared deeply for the babies and the elders of this world. Earlier, she had seen him give Megan a huge wad of US dollars wrapped in a rubber band right in her hand just before they had left the orphanage. There had been tears of gratitude in her eyes.
Juanita pinched his cheek one last time and hugged him when they had enough for their meal. She came over to Daria, pinched her cheek and patted her shoulder, saying something in Quechua to her that she didn’t understand. She saw Nik grin broadly as he came up to place his hand against her back, guiding her down the hill.
“What did Juanita just say?”
“Oh,” he murmured, “that you and I looked more like a husband and wife than just friends. I told her I had just met you.”
Feeling heat rush up from her neck and into her face, Daria stared over at him. Nik had pulled a large cloth bag out of his medical ruck and put all the sacks of food into it, carrying it easily in his other hand as he walked beside her. “Oh…”
“Does that upset you?”
She cleared her throat and smiled a little. “No… not really. It’s just a little soon?”
He chuckled indulgently and took her across the street to the local butcher shop. “Didn’t I tell you? Juanita is a medicine woman? She has visions and sees things in the future.”
“How accurate is she?” Daria asked warily, halting at the open-air butcher shop.
“Very,” Nik said with assuredness. “Stay here, I’ll get us a very nice fat chicken for dinner…”
Unsettled, Daria looked up the street toward the vendor booth. Juanita was sitting down again, knitting intently on her colorful alpaca sweater. Daria turned her attention back down the street, looking for any Russian from Korsak’s team who might be watching them. Seeing no one, and yet never trusting that someone wasn’t watching, she looked over at Nik haggling over a freshly-killed chicken that had just been plucked and gutted. The smell of fresh blood cloyed her nostrils. Daria was a meat eater, but didn’t like the smell of blood or carcasses. All kinds of parts of slaughtered cows, chickens and hogs hung down from the ceiling of the shop like bulbs hanging off a Christmas tree. The smell and sight of blood bothered her, and she turned away, frowning. It reminded her starkly of that fateful night, and Daria moved out to the center of the street, allowing the thick, heavy crowds of tourists to flow around her.
Nik came and found her minutes later, the chicken wrapped in brown paper and string in his shopping bag. He gave her a concerned look, touching her shoulder, running his hand across it.
“Too much?”
“Yes,” she choked, shaking her head. “I-I couldn’t stand the sight and smell of the blood…”
“I understand,moya kotya. I’m sorry we had to get it there. It’s the only butcher shop in town.” He gave her a sharpened look. “You’re pale.”
“I’ll be okay,” she said rallying beneath his care, glad that he enfolded her beneath his left arm as they walked toward the apartment halfway down the hill.
“That’s what they always say,” Nik said grimly. “We all say that because we have no place to offload the terrible feelings or images that come with it, that we carry.” He squeezed her and gave her a tender look. “I will cook for you tonight. You can just rest. It has been a long and emotionally stressful day for you, Daria.”
“And yet,” she muttered defiantly, “it’s been the same for you. And you take it with such grace, Nik. What’s your secret? Because I’m not doing as well as I wished I could.”
He laughed a little as they halted at the bottom of the steps to her apartment. “That’s easy. I ignore it. Come,” he said, urging her up the stairs, “let’s leave the world of suffering behind us? Let’s get to your home and close the door and make our world better? Maybe a little laughter? A sense of home when there is no more home anywhere for people like us? We can enjoy the evening, enjoy the company of one another?”
“Sounds great to me,” Daria agreed fervently, taking the stairs, one hand on the damp, rusting metal rail. Her heart and body responded to his low, guttural voice, that yearning for her once more in his eyes as he searched her gaze. He was a man on a tightrope that could break at any moment, Daria realized as she reached the door. Nik came and stood behind her as she fished out the key from her pocket.
“When we get inside, let me sweep for bugs again,” he told her quietly.
“Okay,” she said, pushing the door open. To Daria the place looked untouched. She closed the door behind Nik as he came in and made a beeline for the small kitchen, setting the sack of goods on the counter. The change in him startled her. His face, a moment ago so relaxed and open, was now shut. The emotions, just before so clearly visible on it, were gone. Now, he was in black ops mode as he quickly and efficiently swept every room of the house. He found a bug placed in the lamp that hung over one end of the couch, held it up to her and then placed it on the floor, smashing it with the heel of his combat boot. The angry, dark look in his face as he straightened told Daria that, more than anything, he was a warrior, not just any soldier. The glint coming to his darkening blue eyes put her on notice. She was privileged to see the softer side of Nik, not his hardened Spetsnaz side.
He made a second sweep, intensity in his gaze, his mouth pursed as his lean hands skimmed every surface along every window sill, running his fingers under the lights set beneath the cupboards over the kitchen counter, looking up behind the opened blinds. Daria watched him work and learned. She would have to do this every time she returned to her apartment. No one could be trusted now. Her home had been breached.
Nik heard Dariagroan with pleasure after finishing the meal he’d fixed for them. The sun was setting, near 1800, sixp.m., the day gone, growing darker as night silently crept across this jungle town. He smiled at her, sipping his coffee after clearing the plates and placing them in the sink. Her hands were still red, but less so since he’d given her the lotion to sooth their hard-worked flesh. Her hands were toughened by years of being a sniper in some of the worst climate conditions in the world, but they had no defense against six hours in soapy, hot water scrubbing children’s clothes on a washboard the old fashion way.
“Satisfied, Little Cat?” he teased. He saw the gold in her eyes grow amused.
Running her hand lightly across her stomach, she said, “I feel like a stuffed turkey. I was actually hungry tonight. This is the most food I’ve eaten in a long time.”
Nodding, Nik asked, “Since four months ago? Your appetite has not returned? Yes?”
“Yes.” Daria shrugged. “Alex was always inviting me over for his homemade borscht and other Ukrainian food, trying to get me to put back the lost weight. Lauren makes terrific desserts and she was always tempting me, too. I just couldn’t eat…”
