Free The Dead Have No Shadows by Chris Mawbey Page A

Pester.
    “Don’t you?”  Mickey replied without actually answering.
    Pester shrugged.  “I’ve been over here a long time.  Attitudes change.  I don’t really have an opinion about anything anymore.”
    “Well I do.”  Mickey’s blood was still up.  “I’ve seen too much of what happens when women aren’t treated properly.  To me, we’re all equal.”
    “Very noble,” said Pester.
    “Meaning?”
    “What I said,” Pester replied.  “You should remember what you said.  Things are likely to get tough going forward from here.  That attitude could work for and against you.”
    “So you do know what’s in store for me,” said Mickey, pressing a quickly taken advantage.  “Don’t you think you ought to tell me?”  He climbed onto the bed and leant against the wall with his hands behind his head.
    Pester sat in a corner of the room.
    “I know a wee bit,” he conceded.  “But I can guess a lot more.  There’s only so much I can tell you.  If I give too much away it could change things for you.  So don’t ask.”
    The guide settled into the corner, turned his back on his young charge and would say no more.

Chapter 9
     
    Mickey awoke feeling just as stiff and unrested as he had when he’d slept outside.  The straw mattress had been too thin to prevent the springs in the bed frame from poking into him and the blanket was as soft as a burlap sack.  Added to that was the fact that every time that Mickey had moved in the night the bed frame had creaked and banged, waking him up.
    It had been during one of these many wakeful moments that Mickey had heard crying from the room next door.  It had been a soft, sad sound.  He had heard no words of comfort so Mickey had assumed that the tears had been shed alone and so belonged to Elena.  He wondered if the family had argued again after he’d left them for the night.
    Breakfast consisted of a bland oat porridge made with warmish water.  It was a stark contrast to the hot breakfasts that Mum used to insist that Mickey ate before going to school on frosty mornings.  Mum’s porridge was hot, smooth and creamy, and served with love.  This breakfast was tepid, lumpy and tasteless, and eaten in an atmosphere of lingering acrimony.
    Mickey looked across the table at Elena.  Her eyes were red rimmed with dark circles beneath them.  She looked so sad that Mickey felt his heart beginning to break.  Elena’s sadness only made her look more beautiful.  Mickey wanted to give her a hug and tell her that everything would turn out alright.  He knew that it would have been a lie though.  Elena was going to be married off to someone who won her in a contest.  She would find out who that was going to be today and become his wife tomorrow.  There would be no courtship, no romance and probably no love.  Elena would just become another piece of property – the purse of a prize fight.
    The similarity between what was happening here and the relationship between his own parents wasn’t lost on Mickey.  Anger suddenly flared, and he felt his face grow hot as his expression darkened.  He felt powerless to help. 
    Elena was so absorbed in her own misery that she didn’t see the look on Mickey’s face.
    Olga saw Mickey’s anger rise though.  She watched him with a mixture of fear, anxiety and a small amount of hope.
    When breakfast ended Janic ordered his daughter to clear the table and wash the pots.  Mickey immediately offered to help.
    “No, no,” cried Janic .  “My guest does not work.  The girl will do the work.  We will sit outside my house and smoke.”
    Mickey noticed that Janic had dropped the ‘honoured’ part of the guest label now.  What you really want to do, he thought, is parade me in front of your neighbours, just like a trophy.  You vain prick.
    Then Janic said something that reignited Mickey’s anger.
    “Tomorrow she becomes a man’s wife.  She needs to learn her place.”
    Mickey felt his fist clench.  He could