Milena, or the Most Beautiful Femur in the World by Jorge Zepeda Patterson

Author:Jorge Zepeda Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction;Milena;Most Beautiful Femur;Premio Planeta;Planeta Prize;political thriller;detective novel;crime fiction;Rosendo Franco;Croatia;Marbella;Spain;Mexico;Mexico City;human trafficking;big data;books like the girl with the dragon tattoo;novels about prostitution;best novels about journalism;Tomás Arizmendi;little black book;Jaime Lemus;Amelia Navarro;Jorge Zepeda Patterson;novels by economists;novels by sociologists;novels by journalists;Mazatlán;Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales;Sorbonne;El País;Siglo 21;El Universal;SinEmbargo.mx;Adrian Nathan West;The Aesthetics of Degradation;Panama Papers;internet privacy;Spanish translation;best Mexican authors;international fiction;buddy cop fiction;novels in translation;books about corruption;PRI;books with love triangles;human trafficking;sex slavery;drug war;Mexico City
Publisher: Restless Books
Published: 2017-05-04T13:42:51+00:00

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Milena, Rina, and Luis

Thursday, November 13, 2:15 p.m.

From the sofa in the middle of the cabin where she was sitting, Rina watched Milena and wondered if she was missing her home country as she looked down at the dense forest through the window.

“Does that look like the countryside in Yastabarco?”

“Yastabarco?” Milena laughed. My village is called Jastrebarsko.”

“Yeah, that. Is it similar?”

Milena looked back out the window and shook her head after a long pause.

“No. I don’t even know if there are still woods there. When I was a child, they’d already logged the surrounding hills. They say it was because of the war, to avoid sneak attacks, but my grandfather said the people from the Fabrizio sawmill used that excuse to make themselves millionaires.”

“Is Jastrebarsko pretty? Do you miss it?”

“I don’t miss anything. If you start remembering, you’ll never stop, and one day you’ll wake up and hang yourself with your bedsheet. I’m just thankful not to have those sweaty men on top of me anymore.”

Rina went on contemplating her: she imagined nauseating fat people, men with prickly hairs in their nostrils blowing hot air onto her lips, rancid sweat. Just thinking of letting a man like that put his dick into her body made her sick. Suddenly moved, she stood up and walked over to Milena on the other side of the room. She stopped beside her and stroked her hair with her fingertips. She took a tuft of it and rubbed it gently, as if evaluating the quality of a fine cloth. Rina wondered what its natural blonde tone must look like beneath the cheap black dye, and restrained the urge to cry.

“I’m going for a quick run, do you mind? If Luis shows up, don’t start cooking. I want to learn a Croatian recipe.”

In fact, she wasn’t planning on running far. Her jeans and sneakers weren’t the best thing for the mountain paths, but she felt the need for fresh air and some time away. Her new friend’s misfortunes had reopened the deepest wounds from her own tragedy, and now she felt the panic coming back. She walked quickly along the dusty route they had taken the night before. The straw hat she found in the cabin and her broad, dark glasses could barely keep out the bright midday sun sifting over the path. Shortly before she reached a curve, she heard a car motor. She smiled in anticipation of Luis’s arrival, and stopped to wait for her lime-green car to appear. Instead, there was a gray truck followed by a white one. Both pulled to a stop beside her.

“Milena?” a man in a black suit said from the passenger seat.

She nodded softly, paralyzed by confusion.

“Hop in. Claudia sent us,” he added while another man got out of the back seat and opened the door politely. She didn’t move. With their suits, manners, and earpieces, they didn’t seem like two-bit triggermen. But all Rina could feel was panic. The image of her family in her living room covered in blood rose up with absolute clarity.

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