Page 4 of Severed Heart
“I have to go back!” I scream at the British man. “I have to fight!”
I pull at the car door handle, but the man pulls my arm to keep me inside and goes faster.
“Come on, Matis.” The man says Papa’s name like he’s praying as another loud bang comes from the house and shakes our car.
Papa shoots at the lights coming again and again, and one car lights fire before it goes into the river. More lights come as the man goes faster and faster, turning this way and that way.
“Take me back!” I order like Papa does.
“Shut up,” the British man tells me as he turns the wheel. “Keep going, Matis, just a little longer,” he whispers, looking into the mirror on the glass.
“Are you stupid?” I tell the British man. “He can’t hear you whisper!”
He laughs like I told him a joke before I count three cars turning onto our road. The man drives faster and faster, and I close my eyes to ask God to give Papa enough bullets for the big guns to shoot all the bad men.
“Don’t look back,” the man tells me as he starts to drivereally, really, really fast. Snow makes it hard to see through the window, and my tummy hurts when I can’t see our house anymore.
“We go far way now!” I shout in English. “I am Matis soldier! Not for yours! Take Delphine back house, help fight!”
The man continues to drive, and I know I said the words right.
“You understand my English!” I yell at him. “I tell you to back!” When he doesn’t listen,again, I curse at him. “Imbecile!”
“Definitely Matis’s daughter,” the man laughs, and I know he’s making fun of me and Papa. I decide I do not like British men.
“I amMatis soldier!”
“Sure you are, kid.” He says this as if he doesn’t believe me. ButI ama soldier. Papa taught me how to march and salute. How to make fires. How to fish. How to shoot—not the big gun yet. How to skin a rabbit and take out its entrails. To cook. Which mushrooms are poisonous, and which flavor food. He taught me tactics and intelligence he learned when he was a special soldier. He taught me that keeping clean keeps you close to God. He reads to me the stories of other soldiers. Of wars. Of the news. I decide the man driving does not know Papa. I stare at the side of his head as I speak more English. “You make Delphineveryangry.”
He smiles. “Get used to it.”
He is not a nice man, but I know he doesn’t want to hurt me like the burnt man did. Papa says he will keep me safe, and I believe him.
“You soldier, like Matis?” I ask in English.
“Yes. Long ago, when he was arespectableman.” The British man goes faster, screaming when his car spins round and round before it finally stops. He curses when I throw up on his floor again and on my clothes and my suitcase. I wipe my mouth and look around to see lights shining through the back window of the car.
“The bad men are chasing us!”
“I’m aware, Delphine,Christ, be quiet! And I’m taking you away from thebad man,” he yells back, rolling down his window. He shoots a gun at the car chasing us over and over again until we can’t see the lights anymore, and lets out a long breath.
We drive for a long, long time before the British man stops the car and tells me to get down in my seat while he watches the road for more lights. After a long time, I try hard not to fall asleep when he finally speaks.
“Your father might have borne the worst luck, but as it seems, you won’t be suffering the same tonight. Looks like you live to see another day.” He presses his hand to his face. “Christ, that was close.”
“Take Delphine back house. Matis need . . .” I try to think of the English word. “His medisis-medicines spoon.Iknow where. OnlyIhelp him.”
“Life is cruel, and it would do you a bit of good to learn it early.” He turns in his seat toward me. “As intelligent as you might be for one so young, you’re utterly ignorant in judgment of allegiance because your papaisthebadman,little flower. A weak, pathetic drug addict.” The man curses and shakes his head as he turns the key. “So weak that he made another bad bet because he didn’t have anything to fill his precious spoon.”
“Papanotbad man,” I whisper, staring at the side of his head. I hope he can see he’s making me angry and that I think he is an imbecile. “You tell lies.”
“You don’t seem to be a soldier that follows orders”—he looks down at me in my seat—“so maybe that’s why hebet you.”
Chapter Two
TYLER
US PRESIDENT: WILLIAM J. CLINTON | 1993–2001
