Blood Ties

Chapter 3

"This is no place for a little girl."

Great Uncle Carlo was glowering down at her. Behind him, Lazaro reclined, eyes half-lidded, pale hair spread over his pillows.

"Please," Damiana heard herself say, her voice high and childish. "I just want to learn."

"Let her stay," said Lazaro. "She'll be quiet." He gave her a meaningful stare. "Won't you."

"Yes," Damiana nodded vigorously. "Of course."

Carlo looked at the both of them, his thin, bloodless lips turned down at the corners. "Very well. Far be it from me to impede another's study of death," he sighed, placing a brown paper parcel down on the trestle table by Lazaro's bed, a scalpel beside it. It was butcher's paper, tied with string. "I have something special for our lesson today."

Without further explanation, Carlo untied the knot, peeling back the paper with his long, spidery fingers. It was bloody on the inside, surprisingly so, the paper curling back on itself, the petals of an obscene red flower.

She leaned forward, and saw the little body curled inside.

"Oh," Lazaro was sitting up now too. "A stillbirth?"

Carlo nodded. "About twenty weeks," he said.

Lazaro reached into the packet and turned the body. "It's almost completely formed," he said, something like awe in his voice.

Carlo nodded again, looking pleased. "Cause of death?"

"Cause of-" Lazaro paused, frowning. "Was it ever truly alive?" he asked, lifting its tiny arm between his thumb and forefinger.

"A good question, child," said Carlo.

Its bloody hand grasped at nothing.

--

Damiana woke with the taste of blood in her mouth. The room was still, and dark. She pulled up her shirt. You still in there, baby?

She waited, almost afraid to breathe, and then she felt the baby move. A tumbling sensation, like rain on the skin of a drum. Damiana breathed out.

Good to hear it, little one.

She ran her hands down her legs, feeling the smooth, perfect patch of skin where the bullet hole had been. How long had she slept?

Her eyes adjusting to the dark, she could make out Giuseppe lying next to her, unbreathing, his hands clasped at his stomach, his eyes closed. She reached out and stroked his cheek, his skin cold against her fingertips. Had she really suckled from his wrist, greedy as an infant? Or had that been a dream, too? Either way, her grandfather would be no use until the sunset. A shock might wake him during the day, but his body would be weakened, strong as a normal man at most. Damiana rose, careful not to disturb him.