Return to Paradise by Shirl Henke

Author:Shirl Henke [Henke, Shirl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shirl Henke
Published: 2011-04-24T07:00:00+00:00

* * * *

Benjamin awoke slowly, his temples throbbing in an agonizing rhythm. He attempted to open his eyes only to find his eyelids weighed so much he could not do so. God, am I dead with coppers upon sightless eyes? His throat felt sewn shut, and he had an incredibly sour and foul taste on his seared tongue. He could not identify the poison, which caused him alarm, yet not half as much as the pounding in his head. I cannot be dead and hurt this much.

Again he struggled to open his eyes and this time was rewarded with...darkness. Then flames flickered dimly into his peripheral vision and he turned his head. God's teeth, small wonder his head ached. He was lying on the cold hard earth, trussed up hand and foot while some infernal heathen ritual was taking place around the fire—accompanied by the beating of drums. Mama, why did I not heed you and attend church with you more often? Surely this was hell and the dark figures cavorting to the hideous pounding were its fiends.

Benjamin took a deep breath and manfully decided he must face his punishment. With a shake of his head, his brain and vision unfogged the tiniest bit. One dancer was female, clad in garish multicolored skirts. She looked vaguely familiar. He let out a muffled curse as his memory began to return.

A scraggly youth had come up to him and Mineo at the fair, offering to share a fresh flagon of good red wine. By that time too much swilling had already dulled his judgment. When Mineo passed out, Benjamin left him with two other soldiers and stupidly followed the boy to a quiet place near the river where he drained the flagon dry. He had been taken captive by the caraque! That girl with the tangled mass of night-dark hair had danced earlier at the fair. He struggled to sit up and look about without attracting attention from the revelers.

His hands and feet were securely tied and numb. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. The darkness impeded his view, but the contours of the land looked distressingly unfamiliar in the eerie moonlight. They had traveled a considerable distance. When he tried to move his arms, pain lanced through his whole body, eliciting a groan, which in turn brought on a fit of coughing. His aching throat felt ready to close off permanently as he struggled to breathe.

Rani saw the movement of his golden head from the corner of her eye and quickly rushed from the fire to his side. Merciful Mother, he was alive and at last awake! Agata had said he would live, but after three days Rani had not been so certain that Michel had not overdosed him out of spite.

“Here, let me help you sit up. Do not struggle so. I will bring water,” she whispered as she leaned him back against a wagon wheel.

Django saw her leave the fire and rush to the gadjo's side when he finally awakened.

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