Free A Dark Song of Blood by Ben Pastor Page A

doesn’t like Merlo. I hear that unlike his corrupt colleagues at Braschi Palace, Merlo is true blue when it comes to graft.”
    For some time, neither of them spoke. Bora sat in the armchair at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on his wife’s photograph. Following his stare, Guidi, too, observed the image again. An athletic blonde with a discontented air, elegantly coiffed, holding a dog by the leash on some smart city street.
    â€œHer name is Benedikta,” Bora said.
    â€œVery handsome.”
    â€œShe is, thank you. I haven’t seen her in a year.” Bora fumbled with cigarettes and lighter, with uncharacteristic clumsiness. “She’ll be here on Thursday, with a Red Cross train.” As you surely know , his stepfather had wired, your wife is coming on the third. Why he should have known was more than Bora could tell. He put a cigarette in his mouth, in what Guidi was beginning to recognize as an antidote for embarrassment, or shyness. “Care to smoke?”
    â€œYes, please.”
    â€œGood. Here. I do, too.” With a quick puff of smoke Bora started his cigarette. “You know, I could have been transferred to a German hospital, back in September, but I didn’t want to jeopardize my assignment. They did a good job in Verona, I think. The hand could not be saved regardless. I knew that.”
    â€œYou seem to be doing fine.”
    â€œOh, I do.” Bora smirked. “You should have seen me this morning. All four tires of my car were slashed. Have you evertried to change a tire with one hand? Well, I changed four, by myself. I manage, I manage.” Carefully, though he sat facing it, Bora avoided the mirror on the opposite wall. “I spent weeks learning how to do and undo my breeches, put my shirt on and button it, place the metal band of my watch on the finial of a chair so I can slip it on my right arm, all in record time. I can get dressed now more quickly than I did with both hands. I shave, drive, type, do push-ups and shoot a rifle as before. And yet, strictly speaking I can no longer even wash my hands , or clap, or hold someone. Playing the piano is also finished, which sometimes I think is the most difficult to take.” He smoked for a time, encouraged by Guidi’s silence. “Of course that’s not true. The most difficult thing is facing my wife on Thursday.”
    Guidi had to wonder what the matter really was. “Doesn’t she know?”
    â€œShe knows. We last spoke by phone in October.”
    â€œI’m sure she’s dying to see you.”
    â€œI hope so.” Bora smiled in a self-conscious way. “Anyway, she obviously meant to surprise me. Only because of my stepfather’s wire did I find out. She’ll stay eight days. I’ll be at work, of course, but thank God I’ll have the nights with her. I don’t need to tell you how unbearably physical it becomes after a year’s separation.”
    Just then, the lights went out. Growing from a plaintive whine, the wail of sirens began to rise in pitch across the dark. Guidi heard himself saying, “An air raid here? I thought Rome was an open city,” and Bora replying dryly, “Yes, well. Bombs go awry, too.”
    â€œWhat are we supposed to do?”
    No rustle of movement came with Bora’s answer. “There’s a shelter in the basement of the hotel. In case of a direct hit, you can choose between being blown up outright or being buried under these many stories of rubble.”
    â€œI’ll take my chances here if it’s all the same with you.”
    â€œIt is. I’m staying.”
    Outside the door there was a scramble of people groping their way downstairs. Guidi’s mouth went dry. In the absolute darkness, the rising and falling wail was a ghost of sound let loose over the city. I hope Francesca is safe , he thought, unexpectedly. I don’t care with whom – just safe.
    The flame of Bora’s