by Bob Bidecant
1.9
Isabelle looked into her small plate of broth and bread uncomfortably as she ate. She broke her food into tiny pieces and picked at it slowly, trying to convince herself that the meal was larger. Scores of skinny refugees stared at her silently, like dogs waiting for scraps as she and her family ate slowly without speaking. She didn’t know why but she tried to look as if she wasn’t enjoying it, a small gesture to reduce the discomfort of the hungry around her. Her uncle had already moved them and their meagre belongings twice. The ships were infrequent and there was no order. It was first come first served and places could be bought from the Russian soldiers. They had moved closer to the shore when they first arrived, thinking they had a better chance to board a ship, but it came at a high price for those who could afford it.
Isabelle watched as those who had bribed the soldiers were allowed to push in front of those who had been there the longest. Sailors with cloths tied around their mouths to keep out the putrid air beckoned them on board, pulling them up the shaky wooden board that didn’t seem strong enough to hold the weight.
A weak, old woman struggled to pull herself up the wood alone. The sailor became angrier with her, she was slowing everyone behind her down. People forced their way passed her in their haste to get on the ship. The old man behind her stopped and tried to help her, pleading with others to assist him. But she was too weak to move and now they both had completely blocked the way. One sailor shouted to them angrily. They did not move so he shouted again. He called to two sailors who walked back down towards them. The old man held his arm out for help as they reached him. The first sailor punched him in the chest, the second pulled the woman’s hand from the rope she was holding on to. Isabelle held her hand to her lips and turned Jaak’s head away as she watched them both fall together into the water below. The people behind them looked on in horror until the sailors shouted at them to move faster. Nobody else stopped or looked down as they climbed the wooden plank. Those too weak and old to fight their way onto the ship were left on the dock. They had gone without food for so long that they had no resistance to the sickness and disease, as it spread through the camps, and they died daily. The Russians guarding them made no provisions to help the refugees, there only function was to stop the refugees from turning back once they arrived or getting away when they realised what a hell they had walked into.
Isabelle wept as she watched the bodies of the two old people float away with the tide. Two sharks appeared and tore at them, then more arrived and within minutes the two bodies were gone.
Isabelle and her family collected their belongings and walked back towards the hill at the edge of the camp, there were less people here and the air smelled fresher. Later that evening, Isabelle sat with Jaak on her lap talking with her Aunt about what they had witnessed earlier that day. Her younger uncle had left to find a colleague he had been told was nearby and her older uncle was lying on one arm, listening to Isabelle and smoking his clay pipe. Isabelle suddenly felt Jaak’s whole body stiffen. She looked up to see three scruffy Russian soldiers and a red haired girl standing nearby watching them. Jaak sat motionless, the sight of the Russian soldier terrifying him.
They looked drunk the way they swayed and Isabelle looked away from them, not wishing to make eye contact. She tried to continue telling her story but her aunt and uncle were not listening, the girl and the soldiers had moved closer behind her.
‘That’s her.’ said the girl pointing at Isabelle.’ That’s the girl that stole my gold chain.’
One of the soldiers had a stripe on his arm.
‘Come with me.’ he told Isabelle.
Isabelle’s uncle moved to rise but the youngest of the three soldiers lifted his rifle and pointed it at him.
‘Just her.’
Ignoring the rifle aimed at him the uncle continued to stand. A rifle butt hit him solidly behind the head and he fell back to the ground. Isabelle rose slowly looking around for help but either no one saw what was happening or they did not want to get involved and looked away, used to the drunken soldiers roughing up people each night. She pushed Jaak towards her aunt,
‘Take him, I will be fine.’ she said. Jaak gripped Isabelle’s skirt tightly but the aunt pulled him away, her terror-filled eyes never leaving Isabelle. The corporal took her arm and walked her roughly away towards the dark forest. Isabelle looked back at Jaak struggling with her aunt to get away and her uncle lying unconscious next to the fire. As the soldiers moved closer to the forest, her mind raced for a way to escape. If the soldiers planned to rape her but she fought too hard they may possibly even kill her afterwards, she knew she had to keep them calm. After several minutes they arrived at a clearing well away from the camp and Isabelle was pushed roughly with her back against a tree, her hands tied around the trunk so tightly it forced her head forward.
A rag was stuffed in her mouth, the taste was vile and then another around her face to keep the rag in place. Until this time the girl had said nothing. She now stepped forward and pulled Isabelle’s top down exposing her breasts. The soldiers stood silently watching, becoming aroused at the sight. She took the corporals left hand and placed it on Isabelle’s bare breast, his right hand she pushed onto her own. Then with her hand on his crotch she played hard with his penis through the fabric of his uniform until she felt him becoming erect. Isabelle closed her eyes and stayed motionless praying it would be over quickly. She felt him take his hand off her breast and opened her eyes to see her and the corporal walking away towards the trees. He spoke in Russian and the girl laughed and slapped his arm. The two soldiers before her began a heated exchange of words and then one left and joined the corporal and the girl. The remaining man spat on the floor and swore. Isabelle understood nothing. She saw he was no more than a boy and was slightly relieved, the other two had scared her more. She looked over to the trees, the girl was servicing them both at the same time, one in front and one behind. Isabelle was confused. Why did they bring her here? When they had left the camp her worst fear was of being raped. She heard a cough and looked back to the clearing. There walking slowly towards her was the old woman who had spoken to her earlier that day, the one so interested in her and Jaak. She stopped in front of Isabelle and said something to the young soldier. He replied harshly to her and snatched the purse that she handed to him. Completely ignoring Isabelle he rested his rifle against her leg and opening the purse, tipped six coins into his hand. Seeming agitated he put two in his pocket and replaced the rest back in the purse, which he then tied.
‘We agreed three coins each.’ he said in Russian.
‘Your Corporal agreed two coins and you can fuck my daughter.’ she replied in broken Russian nodding her head in the direction of the other three. He nodded to the old woman, picked up his rifle and laughed. Reaching forward, he fondled Isabelle’s breasts with one hand for a few seconds and then walked towards the group in the trees who had finished and were re adjusting their uniforms. They began walking back towards the camp, the youngest complaining loudly about being left out of the fun, the girl laughing and the corporal sharing out the coins from the purse with the third soldier.
Isabelle was left alone with the old woman, her heart began racing. The old woman just stared, her cold, black eyes piercing into Isabelle’s brown ones.
She lifted her hand up to Isabelle’s face to reveal a small razor sharp knife. Isabelle’s heart hammered against her chest so hard she nearly passed out. The soldiers scared her but now they were gone she was truly terrified. Anni slid the knife under the rag and across her cheek nicking her, blood trickled slowly as the rag fell to the ground. The old woman spoke softly in a strange dialect Isabelle could not understand. Isabelle’s nose twitched as the old woman’s face came close, her breath stank like a sewer. She searched Isabelle’s dress and then her hair. She spoke again and spat. Then in Circassian she said,
‘You are worthless.’
‘I have nothing.’ Isabelle pleaded, hoping to be released.
‘Are you hu
ngry my dear?’She asked, but before Isabelle could speak she continued.’ Of course not, you have eaten already, I forgot.’
Isabelle’s eyes widened as she looked past the woman. There in the trees at the entrance to the clearing stood Jaak, silent and still. He had followed them. The old woman turned in the direction Isabelle was looking but her eyes were weak and she could not distinguish Jaak from the trees. Isabelle struggled to remember the name she called herself, then it came to her.
‘Anni, I have valuables in the camp, untie me and I will give them to you. My uncle will reward you for saving me from the soldiers.’ Isabelle lied. Old Anni walked behind the tree.
‘Of course I will, my dear, just wait a moment.’
‘Anni help me please we have gold there, untie me please.’ Reaching from behind she slit Isabelle’s throat in one motion.
‘I know exactly where the gold is because I watched you swallow it my dear.’ she continued talking from behind the tree as Isabelle choked on her own blood. The old woman waited for the bleeding to stop, she didn’t want to return to the camp blood stained.
Jaak watching from the shadows began shaking. His new friend killed only days after his mother. His young mind was unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him, he began to rock backwards and forwards stupefied, unable to make a sound. He put his hands over his ears and shut his eyes to block the sounds and sight of his new friend dying exactly the same way his mother died. Then he stopped rocking, opened his eyes and dropped his hands from his ears. He looked at Isabelle.
Satisfied the blood from the wound had subsided enough, the old woman stepped around the tree to the front of Isabelle and pushed the knife into the left of her abdomen. She drew the knife to the right and stepped back releasing the guts onto the ground. Laying the knife down, she picked up the intestine with her left hand and ran her right hand along it feeling for hard objects. After several feet of gut had passed through her hands she stopped and reached down for the knife. Picking it up, she sliced open the section in her hand and dropped the knife back onto the ground. She pulled Isabelle’s chain first, then Jaak’s chain and finally the gold moon charm his mother had given him. Satisfied there was nothing else the old woman reached down to pick up the knife. Engrossed with the gold, her hand went directly to where she had dropped it. She could not find it. She looked down at the floor but still couldn’t see it. To avoid kneeling in the blood she lowered her face to look, cursing both her shortsightedness and old age. Her back ached as she lowered her head even closer to the ground.
As she turned away from the body she lifted her head without straightening up and looked directly into a pair of small green eyes. She had never seen such hate in eyes so young. The small boy swung his arm in front of her. She straightened up and felt a tingle in her throat, her neck becoming wet and sticky. She held her hand to her throat to stem the blood, her eyes searching frantically around for her daughter. She tied to scream but no sound came out. She thrashed about with her arm trying to support herself, each movement causing the blood to pour faster, cascading down the front of her black dress. Now, she knew what it felt like to have her own throat cut.
Her legs gave way and she collapsed, her bottom hitting the floor so hard her teeth chattered together. She looked up at Jaak for the last time as the life began to drain from her evil body. Jaak stared impassively in her eyes without blinking. His face inches away from hers, she took her hand away from her throat and pushed it into his face, covering his nose and mouth with her blood. Her lips mouthed words silently, blood replaced breath, without the wind to speak them. She removed her hand, spat blood at his face and then smiled. With her dying act of vengeance, she placed a gypsy curse on the boy.
He took the gold from her hands as she sat there, dying in front of him and sat down in the blood by Isabelle, rocking back and forth next to her limp body sagging on the tree.
‘Jaak, Jaak.’ it was a quiet voice shaking with grief. ‘Open your hand Jaak give me the knife.’ Isabelle’s youngest uncle spoke gently, tears running in streams down his cheeks. Jaak opened his fingers and the knife slipped to the floor.’ Come Jaak.’ He lifted him up and carried him to the aunt who held him, her entire body trembling as she sobbed, then he returned to Isabelle’s body and cut her free. Ripping a piece from her dress he used it to wrap around her middle holding in what was left of her insides and giving her back some dignity. They walked back to where they left their cart and placed Isabelle’s body inside. Her oldest uncle refused to get in and held onto the side for support as they pushed it out of the camp and into the forest where they could bury her body. They walked all night.
Jaak sat silent in the cart holding Isabelle’s cold hand. The covering slipped off and he sat there looking at the open wound in her stomach and the intestines her uncle had tried to hide from him. He continued to sit in silence until the uncle looked into the cart and called out in horror for his brother to stop. They hurriedly tied the cover back over Isabelle and tried to remove Jaak from the cart. Jaak pulled away from the men and stayed inside holding her hand. As dawn broke they had travelled far enough away from the camp to feel safe. The two men took spades and dug a shallow grave, the sweat ran down their faces as they struggled to break through the hard earth. The aunt cleaned Isabelle’s body. Jaak brushed her hair and thought of his mother as he placed a garland of flowers he had made, on her head.
‘That’s beautiful.’ Said the aunt.
‘I only made them for my mother before but this one is for Isabelle.’ Jaak replied as the aunt turned her face away from him to sob uncontrollably.
Once the body was clean and the shallow grave deep enough, the two uncles lifted her body carefully out of the cart and laid her in the grave. The three adults cried unashamedly for her as Jaak stood silently and watched. They pushed the cart to the river and while the aunt washed Jaak and the clothes, the two uncles cleaned the blood from the back of the cart. They stayed there for one more day talking and planning the safest way to get onto a ship across the Black sea to Turkey. At dawn they left and began the long walk to get a ship at a camp situated further north.
1.10
The second camp was a lot smaller than the first, there were only a third of the amount of refugees here and they were better treated. After three weeks they watched the first ship arrive. The refugees cheered as they saw the Turkish flag proudly waving aloft.
Upon boarding the ship two Turkish sailors that spoke their language instructed them to go directly below. One of them took an immediate liking to Jaak and after the first day at sea, he entered the hold and searched for them in the mass of people.
‘Come with me.’ He beckoned and repositioned the family nearer the hatch where the air was fresher. Isabelle’s uncle decided to confide in him, hoping they would receive some sympathy and get better treatment than the others. He told him the story of Jaak witnessing his parent’s murder, losing his brother and then the cruel act to Isabelle he had witnessed. He did not dare divulge the fact that Jaak had killed the old woman in revenge. The sailor promised to help and take him to a good guardian that he knew of.
‘So he is not your son then?’ was all the sailor asked.’ Don’t worry I can find him a good home with a rich man.’ He did not speak to them again for the remainder of the trip, he checked each day that Jaak wasn’t sick then disappeared again. The sailors knew who to take care of during the trip. The prettiest girls and the younger boys got fed, these ones needed to survive the rough crossing. They were moved towards the hatches where the air was fresher and some sunlight got through. The sailors had no interest in the old or weak ones, and forced them to the back and corners where the air was putrid and stank of sick and excrement. They had sat in the camps for months waiting to be saved from Russian oppression only to become slaves to the very nation they had believed had come to save them. Turkish slave market traders tipped the sailors well for the strong or beautiful ones. The pretty boys and girls would get homes with rich merchan
ts, the stronger and older ones employment as servants or even serve in the army.
1.11
The ship finally arrived in the port of Constantinople, as it docked, the sailor came down the steps with two other behind him and picked up Jaak.
‘I have found a good home for him, you can visit him later, but he has to go now, before the slave traders arrive.’ he shouted to Isabelle’s uncle. The three turned and ran back up the stairs. Jaak was carried off the ship by the sailor who lifted him into a waiting cart next to a young man. As soon as they were seated the young man slapped the donkey harnessed to it and the cart pulled jerkily away. Jaak sat in silence, scared and wanting to cry but holding it back. He scarcely noticed the noisy streets and people bustling along the many stalls they passed. The busy streets gave way to quiet country roads that wound up a steep hill until they finally reached a large building on the outskirts of the city. Jaak looked down at the bay below and the ships berthed there, he could see people being herded off the boat and placed in large carts, all destined for the slave market. They finally arrived at a large house and Jaak was taken into a kitchen and lifted onto a stool. A fat cook came over to him wiping her hands on a cloth and smiled at him.
‘Is Dirty Hands home?’ the sailor asked her.
‘Yes but he is sleeping.’ she replied. ‘And don’t call him that here.’ The young man took a wooden bowl and helped himself to some food, the cook offered a bowl to the sailor. He ate hungrily telling Jaak’s tale in between mouthfuls. The sailor and young man left Jaak in the kitchen and walked into the yard outside. The sailor accepted a bag and tipped the contents out it into his hand, he nodded and put it all into the inside pocket of his vest.
They were in the home of the naval surgeon Dr. Mehmet Sunal, a man frequently found at the centre of the many military conflicts Turkey waged. Shouting his orders to the junior doctors and young nurses who were terrified of him. He would march into an operation and watch how a doctor was performing, then impatiently push him roughly to the side. Never washing his hands he would take over, without waiting for the instruments to be handed to him, he used his hands to move organs around. Once finished his staff were left to stitch the wounds while he walked through the dozens of injured soldiers wiping his hands on his coat covering it in blood, looking for the most badly wounded to operate on next. He became known to patients and staff alike as ‘Dirty Hands’
Dirty hands woke some hours later and walked out into his garden, he stepped onto a stone veranda and leant on the wall. One of his two Persian cats immediately leapt up onto the wall and buried its head into his hands. He lifted it up to his breast and stroked its head, feeling the vibrations through his shirt as the creature purred loudly. The young man interrupted his thoughts.
‘I have found one for you Sir.’ he said.
‘Bring him here.’ said Dirty Hands without turning around, the young man hurried away and returned with Jaak.
‘This is the boy Sir.’ he said nervously. Dirty Hands turned his head to look at Jaak. He studied him for several seconds still caressing his cat. He leant back against the wall.
‘Handsome little man with green eyes, come here to me boy.’ The young man pushed Jaak in the back towards Dirty Hands but Jaak refused to take another step. The man was huge and his deep voice scared Jaak.
The young man pushed him again, forcing him before the big man.
‘Take him away and teach him to speak Turkish.’ he instructed the young man. ‘I will be away for a few months, make sure he can understand me when I return.’ Dirty Hands turned and watched a beautiful sunset, the next day he left at dawn.
Jaak was given easy tasks to perform due to his small size. All of the staff liked him, they came from all parts of the world and all had to learn the basic phrases of Turkish to fulfil their work, Jaak did not understand anybody. Everybody spoke to him a lot trying to teach him the new language they had to learn, but Jaak never smiled or spoke.
‘Go and kill me a chicken.’ The cook instructed a young male servant. As he left the kitchen he called Jaak to join him. ‘Come on Jaak you can catch a chicken for me that will be fun.’ He entered the pen with Jaak and chased a few around, then pretended to try to catch a chicken and fell over. Lying there he looked up at Jaak expecting to see the small boy laughing, but Jaak stood there expressionless staring at him.
‘What a strange little man you are.’ The servant said as he stood up and brushed himself down, then he grabbed one bird under its head by the neck and swung it in a circle killing it instantly. He left the pen and laid it across a wooden block nearby. Ripping some of the feathers away he inserted the knife and cut the bird open, pushed his hand inside and pulled out all of the entrails, which he placed in a dish laid next to the block. He then walked inside a small building where he hung the bird on a hook and left the dish under it to catch the dripping blood. He re-entered the kitchen and called out to the cook.
‘I left your bird to hang.’
‘I need two more, we have guests.’ She replied. As he walked back out to the chicken pen to kill two more birds, he heard the commotion before he could see what it was. Jaak had stayed inside the pen. The servant stopped in front of it and watched as Jaak standing with his back to him struggled with a large bird. He had it by the neck but was not strong enough to swing it. The bird was flapping its wings wildly trying to escape Jaak’s grasp but the small boy was determined to hold on to it. The large chicken flapped wildly pirouetting Jaak around. The servant’s expression turned from smiling to horror when he saw the bird’s claws had raked his small chest, blood running freely from the open cuts. Jaak grimaced as his small hands squeezed the chicken’s neck ineffectively, the bird’s claws raked his chest again and he became furious. The servant struggled to remove the strap holding the pen gate closed, he watched horrified as Jaak pulled his hands towards his face and bit the bird’s neck. He threw the strap off the post and raced into the pen, grabbing the chicken by its legs with one hand and pushing Jaak away from the razor sharp claws with his other hand. Jaak refused to let go, his face contorted with rage as he bit deeper into the neck of the bird. The servant lifted the bird’s body away from Jaak and twisted its body in one direction and its neck the other. The bird flapped its wings twice more and stopped moving. After several seconds Jaak opened his mouth and released his grip from the bird then collapsed onto the floor. The servant picked up Jaak and brought him into the kitchen.
‘Oh god put him on the table.’ Cried the cook.
She removed his shirt and looked at the long deep scratches running down his chest.
‘Get hot water and a cloth and clean the cuts,’ she barked at the young girl standing behind her. ‘You go and get the ointment for burns and cuts.’ she told the man. Nanuk, the head servant walked into the kitchen and looked at Jaak.
‘I thought we were serving chicken tonight, not Circassian. Make sure he is fit for work tomorrow.’ He said callously and walked away.
Jaak awoke on a small bed and looked at the young girl who was holding his hand and smiling at him, it was the first time he had seen her.
‘Hello Jaak, I just got here as well, I’m from Circassia too, my name is Belle.’ Jaak pulled his hand away from her and stared in the opposite direction, Belle stood up and left him alone. The next morning the cook was the first to enter the kitchen. She stopped suddenly and looked at the floor, a line of blood stains ran from the outside door to her worktable. Two dead chickens were laying on a wooden board, next to them her large meat knife. Both chickens had been beheaded.
She followed the trail of blood outside.
‘Hello Jaak, are you feeling better?’ Jaak sat on the stone step, the two chicken’s heads beside him. His hands were covered in blood. He stood up without looking at her and walked away.
1.12
Dirty hands often left for long periods at a time and there was always a celebration in the large home when he returned. He ordered a feast to be prepared and a party was a
rranged. Jaak watched as large tables magically appeared and filled the garden where the party would be held. That evening many of Dirty Hands friends and acquaintances attended. The tables were filled with mountains of food, and the guests ate slowly talking loudly and exchanging stories and gossip. Jaak stayed in the kitchen. He helped to fill silver serving trays with food for the servants to carry outside into the garden, receiving a slap to the back of his head from the cook when he was too slow or caught stealing mouthfuls.
As the evening greyed into night, the eating slowed and the servants could take some time to eat too, sitting in the kitchen out of sight. The guests became noisier and some people got up to dance. The musicians who had been playing softly in the background instantly changed the tempo to dancing music and increased the volume. More guests started to dance including the host who needed a large section of the floor to exhibit some wild dance moves that he had learnt on his travels and decided to perform. He returned to his seat exhausted by his burst of energy, panting and laughing.
‘Nanuk where is my little green eyes?’ he called to his servant. ‘Bring him here now, my guests want to see him.’ Nanuk ran into the kitchen nervously calling for Jaak to come with him. The other servants looked anxiously at each other, they had failed to encourage the boy to speak a single word of Turkish or even utter a word in his own language.
‘He will be furious with us for failing to teach him, you must tell him that the boy is a mute.’ Nanuk took Jaak’s arm and guided him back to the table. Several women ruffled his hair as he passed commenting to each other of his beautiful eyes and dark curly hair. Nanuk leant forward and spoke to dirty hands.
‘The boy has not uttered a single sound since you left Sir, we have tried our best to coax a word from him and spent hours with him but he will not speak.’ Dirty hands took the boys arm and pulled him gently next to him, he gestured for another seat and one was positioned beside his. He lifted Jaak onto the chair and pushed his own plate toward him. Jaak’s hand moved towards the plate but hesitated as it hovered above a large piece of meat. His eyes met Dirty Hands who nodded to him. Jaak took the meat and chewed on it. ‘He is beautiful,’ said the wife of Colonel Mustafa Pamuk.‘ Is this the Circassian boy we heard about?’
‘Yes Halil, this is the Circassian, but my servant tells me that he is mute.’ Pamuk leant forward to look more closely at the boy’s face; his wife wiped Jaak’s mouth with her serviette and smiled at him.
‘Maybe he is deaf too, what will you do with him if he cannot speak?’ he enquired.
‘I don’t know.’ Dirty Hand answered then turned to Jaak.‘ If you can’t speak what are you going to do when you grow up?’Jaak swallowed the meat in his mouth. Hesitating before taking the next bite he answered softly without looking up at anybody. Dirty Hands looked at Belle the servant girl standing further back.
‘Well he can talk now, but what did he say.’ He asked. Belle looked nervously around at the table of people and stammered slightly as she spoke.
‘Come on girl spit it out, what did he say?’
She cleared her throat and said loudly.
‘He said when I grow up I will cut Russian’s throats.’ Dirty Hands looked at Nanuk who raised his hands stunned. Pamuk exploded with laughter as did many of the men at the table, but the smile left his wife’s face and her expression turned to one of disgust. She withdrew her hand, threw the serviette on the table and left. Pamuk slapped Dirty Hands on the shoulder as he stood up to leave,
‘Looks like you have a good Turkish soldier in the making send him to me when he is old enough to strangle something bigger than a chicken.’ He laughed as he joined his wife enjoying his own humour.
‘What an evil little boy,’ Halil whispered to her husband as they left.’ And he looked like a little angel.
‘A nightmare hidden inside a dream.’ replied Pamuk, already planning a future for the young boy.
The last guest was leaving and Dirty Hands walked them to his gate and waved them farewell. The staff had already cleared most of the tables when he returned to the garden, he picked up his wine and sipped it slowly looking out across the city below.
‘We have finished cleaning Sir, can we go to bed now?’
‘Yes.’ replied Dirty Hands. Belle bent to pick up Jaak who had fallen asleep on the stool, his head resting on the table.
‘Leave him there.’ Nanuk told her.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Just leave him there and go.’ he repeated to her. She stood up and looked at several other servants, they had been working there a lot longer than she had. None looked her in the eye. She turned towards Dirty Hands who was still standing with his back to them. She bowed her head and did as she was told. As she entered her sleeping quarters she looked through the crack in the wooden shutters into the garden. Dirty Hands picked up Jaak and carried him to his bedroom, the cats dancing and weaving between his feet as he walked across the garden into the house closing the door behind him with his foot. Belle sat down on her bed, her teeth biting hard into her finger as she silently sobbed for the young boy.