lowered themselves towards the seat.
“I’m coming to talk,” he said.
The first leg touched the floor. Ana jumped up, wanting to escape. Whilst grabbing for support her left arm pushed forward and her right arm reached for the trap-door handle, and then she noticed a whirr of the engine and suddenly the walls around her started turning. Her attacker screamed.
The leg, which had earlier touched the floor, was dangling in the air.
“I’m stuck,” moaned Alfonz, “you caught me. I’m trapped.”
Trapped? The turret really was turned in a different direction – without realising, she must have pressed the button which controlled its movement. Her attacker was probably pressed against the barrel, half of his body in and the other half out of the tank. But how was he trapped? Surely he could have bent over and moved away? He had to be lying to her to make her come out.
“I’m caught against the axe. Nothing can stop me when I want to talk to you. Nothing. I’m coming. I’m coming. The axe is sticking into me. I’ll keep pushing down and I’ll come. Don’t worry. I’ll come. Down. Down. Down.”
With every word, a few drops of fresh blood slid down the leg and fell onto the metal floor.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
The blood started running in a little stream and the leg started approaching the floor.
“I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m very happy knowing that there’s somebody waiting for me. Just a little bit more! Just a little bit more!”
Blood dripping down into a red puddle on the floor. His toes were dangling just above it.
“NO! NO!” screamed Ana, hitting the button in front of her forcefully. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS MADNESS, THIS RUNNING AWAY! DIE! DIE! DIE!”
The noise of the engine drowned the loud screams, followed by the crack of wood – bones? – and around the dangling legs – I mustn’t look, I mustn’t! – blood splashed across the seat, spilling onto the floor. Ana kept pressing the button, unable to tear her eyes away. The legs fell onto the floor, twitching in the blood. They were followed by the top half of the body, rolling off the seat towards the partition, and over it spilled the innards. The grinning skull turned around and stopped only when their eyes met.
“You didn’t even like me,” he said and he was so…
BROKEN! BROKEN!
Ana could not stand it any longer. She leapt out and threw up, bent over the machine gun. Through the light flashes in her eyes and waves of sickness she looked across the clearing and saw the three old men fighting and next to them that beautiful child who turned towards her, saw her and started walking.
With the back of her hand, she wiped off the drops of bile from around her mouth. The child must not see her like that. The tank was very slowly moving forward in the direction of the sea and it would soon – she hoped – disappear in it forever. The old men were strangling each other and taking no notice of the boy. She would jump down, grab him and together they would run away from that nightmare.
“Don’t worry,” she said to him, even though he was too far to hear her.
Luka knew he did not have much time left. He had seen too much dying by then to be able to fool himself with false hopes. With his left hand he kept pushing in his innards, which were steaming under his palm, covering him with some kind of fluid, and before his eyes he saw images of military cemeteries. Long rows of white crosses in the middle of very well-looked -after grass. None of the crosses had names on them. Where were their names, where did they get lost? It was a terrible violation of the natural order of things: a body is put in the ground and the name rests on the cross above it. But white crosses without names, no, NO!
He grabbed Adriano who was still wheezing in spite of the fact that the stream running from the vein on his neck had nearly stopped. It was him, for sure!
But where could he have hidden the name after he had stolen it?
Luka groped in the blood with his hand and then looked at his palm. Nothing.
He had to be cool and collected. He had to think.
Adriano became calmer but he was still looking at him as if he was hiding something.
Behind his eyes.
That was where it was.
Luka pushed his thumb between the bone and the eye ball on the body under him and pulled out the eye. He turned the eye in his hand around and around. He bent over and ran his fingers around the bloody hole. He did not find his name.
He felt faint and found it difficult to keep upright. It had to be behind the other eye.
Just a little more strength. Just… please… please… just…
Just a little more.
Raf saw the tank moving at the edge of the woods, he saw Alfonz’s death, he saw the old men fighting, he saw them slaughtering each other and he looked on without any feelings. Things were happening but he was too numb to care anymore. He saw the girl vomiting next to the machine gun, and seeing the direction the child was looking at, Raf knew that she was his next victim. Suddenly he moved and straightened up.
He ran to the front door and onto the veranda. The abandoned tank was rattling at the edge of the woods, the girl was getting ready to jump off and – he knew it! – run towards the boy – she wants to save him! The name collector was on his way towards her, with his right side and most of his back turned towards Raf.
Raf became aware of the similarity with the scene on the cliff. The victim waiting, the child’s back and a spear in Raf’s hand. He was going to run again. This time he would not make a mistake. He would not trip over. He would run with the spear in his hand, thinking of her face and he would end the nightmare.
God, you gave me life once and you saved it twice. For this. This. Now. For her. You do exist, God, when you give us another chance.
He lifted the spear, aiming it at the back in the middle of the clearing and ran.
Ana was just about to jump off the tank, when she noticed the figure on the porch. She recognised him immediately. That bony boy from the ferry! She was horrified at his appearance and then realised that she had to look pretty bad too. How glad she was to see him!
He was holding something, aiming it forward – a stick?
A spear.
He was getting ready to run and she knew who was his aim. He wanted to kill an innocent child. He, too, had gone mad and turned into a murderer.
She had to be cool and collected. SHE HAD to save the child!
She had no chance to save the child. What could she do against a madman with a spear who was bound to be a faster runner than her and who was nearer the boy to begin with?
SHE HAD to save him! SHE HAD TO!
The machine gun.
She jumped back onto the turret, grabbed the handles and turned the barrel towards the veranda. The tank was travelling parallel to the villa, the bodies of the old men stayed behind and the little boy was approaching from the right, from the middle of the clearing, almost following the vehicle. The attacker took his first leap. There were no obstacles between him and the gun. She could not miss.
She pressed the button and nothing happened. Was it not working? Was it empty?
She remembered the machine gun inside the tank.
The crazy boy with the spear had covered the first few metres.
Ana knew how little time she had and she did not hesitate. She jumped into the tank, turned away from the grinning remains and slid into the seat next to the machine gun.
She looked over the barrel. For a moment she became worried that she would not be able to turn the weapon enough to be able to aim it at the attacker, who was half way towards his victim.
My God, I beg you, guide my hand, help me kill that animal and save the innocent child. God, do it for all those forkfuls of food I had to eat for you. So many times. God. For all that food. God. God.
She kept repeating God’s name and fired.
