/>
It took her a while to figure out how to eat the fish. Food was not something to be touched with one’s hands. She found a stick, cleaned it in the dying fire, and at last tackled the cold fish with the stick and the knife. To her amazement, she ate all three fish the man had left behind.
Noon came and the man did not reappear with the boat. He certainly took long enough to do things, she thought. It had taken him an entire day to catch three fish so it would probably take two days to bring a boat around. The day wore on and still he did not return. Were all Americans like this? Her grandfather would not tolerate such behavior in a palace servant. America was very young compared to Lanconia and she wondered about the survival of the country if all Americans were as slow and uneducated as this one. How could they possibly win their war with men as undisciplined as this one? The Americans needed more than vanadium—they needed a new population.
In the afternoon it began to rain. It was a light, warm drizzle at first but the wind rose and it grew colder. Aria huddled under the tree and wrapped her skirt about her legs.
“I’m not going to recommend him for a medal,” she said, rain pouring down her face, her teeth beginning to chatter. “He is failing in his duties to me.”
Lightning flashed and the rain began to come down in lashing sheets.
“Don’t you know enough to get out of the rain?”
She looked up to see the man standing over her. He was still wearing very little clothing and his cheeks had even more black whiskers on them. “Where is the boat?” she called up at him, over the rain.
“There is no boat. We’re stuck here together for three more days.”
“But I can’t stay here. People will be looking for me.”
“Could we discuss this another time? Much as I dislike the idea, you have to come back to my camp. Get up and follow me.”
She stood, using the tree for support. “You must walk behind me.”
“Lady, I don’t know how you’ve lived so long without somebody murdering you. Go ahead, then, lead.”
Immediately, she realized she had no idea which way to go. “You may go first,” she said graciously.
“How kind you are,” he replied, the first decent thing he had said to her.
He turned away and she waited until he was several feet ahead then followed. It would not do to get too close to him. He didn’t seem to be a trustworthy man. She followed him a few yards behind then the rain obscured him and she lost sight of him. She stood absolutely still and waited, willing even her eyes not to blink against the driving rain.
He returned after several long minutes. “Stay close to me,” he shouted over the rain. Shouted unnecessarily loudly, she thought. He turned away then looked back and grabbed her hand.
Aria was horrified. He had touched her after she had told him he could not. She tried to pull away from him but he held fast.
“You may not have any sense but I do,” he yelled, and began to pull on her arm.
Really, she thought, the man was too insolent for words. He plunged ahead, hanging on to Aria’s hand as a dog holds on to a bone. Once in a while he shouted orders at her, telling her to duck, and one time he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to the ground. He expected her to crawl through the underbrush! She tried to tell him he had to cut the growth away but the man didn’t listen to her. She was faced with being dragged, on her stomach, through the swampy land or crawling. Disgusting sort of non-choice.
When they at last reached the clearing, it took a moment to get her bearings. She was completely disoriented after her treatment by this man. She stood in the rain and rubbed her wrist where he had held her. Was this where this man lived? There was no house, nothing but a few crates and a piece of black fabric forming a little tent. No one in Lanconia lived this poorly.
“In there,” he shouted, pointing to the piece of fabric draped over tree branches.
It was the most humble type of shelter, but it was dry. She knelt and crawled inside. As she was wiping water from her face, to her utter disbelief, the man crawled in beside her. This was too ridiculous even for an American.
“Out,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice. “You will not be allowed—”
He put his face nose to nose with hers. “Listen to me, lady,” he said as quietly as he could over the rain. “I’ve had more than enough from you. I’m cold, I’m wet, I’m hungry, I got a bullet wound in my arm, I got cuts on top of burns, and you’ve ruined the first vacation I’ve had in this war. You got a choice: you can stay in here with me or you can sit out there in the rain on your royal ass. That’s it. And so help me, if you say one more word about what I’m allowed or not allowed to do, I will take great pleasure in throwing you out.”
Aria blinked at him. So far, America was not what she had imagined. Perhaps she had better try a different tack because this man seemed to have an extraordinarily violent nature. Perhaps he would begin shooting at her as the other men had done. “May I have some dry clothes?” she asked, and gave him the smile she gave to one of her subjects who had just pleased her.
The man groaned, twisted toward a corner of the tarp, and opened a metal chest. “I got navy whites and that’s it.” He tossed them into her lap, then turned away, lay down on the rubber floor, stretched out, pulled a blanket over himself, and closed his eyes.
Aria had difficulty hiding her shock. Was all of America like this? Full of men who abducted one, then shot at one, other men who called one honey and tossed knives at one’s hand? She would not cry, under no circumstance would she cry.
She knew it was no use trying to unbutton her dress. She had never undressed herself and had no idea how to do it. She clutched the dry clothes to her and lay down, as far away from the man as possible, but she could not control the shivering.
“Now what?” he muttered, and sat up. “If you’re afraid I’ll attack you, don’t be. I’ve never found a woman less interesting than you.”