Marco Domici: Strong Arm

Marco looked at the tent market from a distance. A cold breeze gently flapped a shelter panel loose and Marco watched an underfed little boy rush to tie it back down. Or was it a girl? Between layers of dirt, unshorn hair, and hand me down clothes from someone much larger, he just wasn't sure.

Still, he watched. Leaning against the ill-fitted and sagging wood of a corner building, Marco saw two gangly teens trying to catch an errant creature destined for the stew pot. Frequent squeals from both sides of the race tracked them in and out of tent stalls. Laughter followed as often as curses. Marco smiled.

For a few moments he closed his eyes and remembered the sights and smells of youth. There were some memories, buried deep, before Aldo and his young but ill bride had met him. 'The green room', the kids called it, not wanting to admit what it really meant. You went there to be looked at, inspected. Some few, the lucky ones, didn't come back. They used to scare the real little ones with stories of adults eating you if you went to The Green Room. One little boy had wet his ragged pants as the head lady tried to usher him gently in.

Marco had been in The Green Room a couple times. The first time, thankfully, he wasn't eaten. However, the couple prodding and questioning him had seemed to have eaten little children before. Corpulent and rude, Marco had detested them. All the kids knew that if you got into trouble it'd go on your record. For a short while Marco set the high bar of times in solitude. He had about a month to himself, not counting lectures from the head mother.

Then Aldo came. Third hand suit and his frail wife beside him. Marco had sensed, somehow, that she was as scared as he was. Yet there was Aldo, his gentle voice encouraging her as a firm arm wrapped around her. The exasperated house mother had been required to read Marco's long list of transgressions so Aldo was 'fully informed'. She seemed to relish the details of his eighth floor escape and mostly nude sprint across ice covered rooftops. They hadn't caught him. Black ice, a long fall, and then the cops had brought him back; leg cast and all.

As the house mother read diligently from the screen Aldo looked at Marco. They locked eyes and Marco hid nothing. Neither did Aldo. Then Aldo winked and moved his other arm just slightly.

Without hesitation Marco eased out of the hard metal chair and moved around the interrogation table. The arm moved around him, pulled him close. Aldo looked at the house mother. "Thank you, Miss Mubunga. My wife, son, and I will be going out for lunch. Please have all the forms ready when we return. If my son has any belongings here, please have them packed and ready. He will not be returning to you."

Marco tensed slightly as an arm slid around him. The smell of cheap beer, rough smoke, and stale perfume clued him in as his eyes looked past the too thin and too few clothes.

"Hello Tala." Marco said softly. He unbuttoned his coat and pulled her close. "You're dressed for the bar, not out here. Why are you out here freezing?"

Tala let herself be pulled in. A moment's hesitation, then her gut told her this was a good man. Maybe not a safe man, but good. She snuggled a bit in the warmth of his coat and chest. Her pride balked, but her trust won. "No customers yet."

Marco held her close as they relaxed together. He felt her thin body shiver as it tried to draw even more warmth from him.

He stood straight and gave her a squeeze. Brushing back one long bang he looked down as she looked up. "You're with me, now, Tala. Let's go for a walk."

Tala looked confused. His words were like so many others, and she expected him to lead her somewhere private. Yet hand in hand he pulled her towards the tents. In a moment she was wrapped in his coat. Many tent vendors knew her. Some men gawked, several women scowled. Tala cringed a bit until Marco's strong arm rested across her shoulders and his hand squeezed her arm. Her mind stumbled when he said "My friend needs..." and her brain went into "yes sir" mode as Marco found various pieces of clothing for her. Warm clothes. Person clothes, not something you temporarily drape over an object.

They ate together. Sitting on a side bench, she devoured. Warm food filled her belly. Marco looked at her awkwardly, and smiled. "Whut?" She mumbled through a mouthful of something tender and juicy. He reached out a sleeve and brushed something off her cheek.

As his fingertips gently brushed her throat she closed her eyes. His touch was gentle but her mind reeled. Sometimes it happened, she felt what she didn't understand. It had scared her the first few times, but she never talked about it. The girls had joked about "woman's intuition" and she assumed this was it. She felt Marco deep within her. Fearful bile rose as she kept stabbing some creature trying to hurt a friend she didn't know. She danced as a gangly teen with a girl she had never met. Tala stood against the raging fear of death; stood to protect her friends, whoever they were, against fearsome odds.

Through eyes of wounded sadness she saw herself. Not pity. Not scorn. Compassion, tainted by hope. She saw the tears well up as her heart broke.

It had been a long time since Tala had cried. Face buried in Marco's chest, she let go. It had been a long time.