Ana

For a few moments the four of us sat panting on the bedroom floor. Thomas had no problem crawling through the open window, but his mother, whose name turned out to Ana, had needed a great deal of help.

"We thought maybe you had evacuated," Brian finally said. "You were so quiet."

"We had no where to go," said Ana with an accent that indicated she was already a long way from home. "We heard you," she said, looking down at her shingle-scraped palms and falling into silence once more.

"Do you have any juice?" Thomas asked suddenly, eyes wide.

"Thomas!" quickly scolded his mother who, in spite of our unusual introduction, obviously still clung to a deep sense of propriety.

"It's okay," I said, putting on a smile that hopefully looked more genuine then it felt, "we could probably all use something to drink."

Downstairs in the kitchen, where the boarded windows kept the room in perpetual night, I poured a glass of water from the pitcher by the stove and offered it to the boy. "I'm sorry we don't have any juice," I said. Shrinking from the glass as if it were an angry snake, Thomas burrowed as far back into his mother's arms as he could.

"Daddy said not to drink the water," he said as if he suspected I was trying to get him in trouble. Ana also looked at me with a measure of distrust and without physically moving she drew as far away from me and my outstretched hand as the room would allow.

"We ran out of the bottled stuff pretty quick," I explained. "We tried boiling the water and it seems to be okay." I took a long sip from the glass to show them, see? Looking to his mother for approval, Thomas grabbed the glass and drained it as soon as she nodded.

"So what happened over there?" asked Brian, sitting down at the table. It wasn't exactly a question.

After a moment's hesitation, Ana told Thomas to go busy himself in the living room and slowly eased herself down into the chair across from Brian. "My husband and I came here fifteen years ago to escape the war in Bosnia. We have seen hard times before."

"Listen lady, I don't wanna hear your life's story," interrupted Brian. "I just want to know why your kid was fucking crawling around outside our window."

"Where is your husband now?" I asked, trying to calm Brian's rising tone by keeping my own voice level. When Ana didn't answer Brian exclaimed under a sigh of forced air, "Ah fuck." I knew what he meant. I knew where this was going too, but we couldn't make any decisions until we heard the whole story.

"My husband," Ana continued, her voice now as unsteady as a lost dog notice blowing free of it's tape. "A few days ago he went out to find food. We still had a little left, but soon it would be gone."

I thought of our own dwindling supplies; two cans of peaches, one can of green beans, one tin of sardines, some flour and some lousy tomato soup; and I realized that Brian was right. If we hadn’t been before, we were now in some serious trouble.

"Orahn thought there must be something left to eat at the Stop & Shop and he insisted he go there on foot. He told me he would be careful, said it would be just like hiding from the Serbs." Brian shot me a harried glance as she paused to dab at her eyes with her shirtsleeve. I urged her to go on.

"He was gone a few hours and when he returned, the front of his shirt was covered in blood. He told me he was walking back with as much food as he could carry when he was attacked by a group of men with yellow eyes." I could see her own dark eyes becoming larger in the dim light and I felt my palms begin to sweat. "Before he could get away, one of the men bit him on the shoulder," Ana continued. "Orahn dropped the food and ran. He was hurt badly but he dared not run straight home for fear the men would follow him." Ana stopped to choke back a sob and I handed her a dishtowel to catch the tears that fell from her pallid cheeks.

"He got sick, didn't he?" I offered when she seemed unable to continue. She nodded, each time dropping her head down further and further as if she no longer had the strength to lift it. She sat there limp for a while, with her chin on her chest, looking every bit like a marionette without her strings. Finally she spoke again, still not raising her head, "He got the fever and he shook all over."

"Did he attack you?" asked Brian, still firm but without some of his previous vehemence. At this Ana's head shot up and she locked his gaze with eyes that might have been pleading had they not been so filled with hate. Still, she kept her mouth shut.

With his hands palm down on the table in front of him, Brian leaned in and repeated, "Did he attack you?"

When she didn't answer he slammed his hands down on the table, startling me from my seat and blowing some of the fire from her eyes. "Fuck, lady! You obviously left for some reason, and in a big fucking hurry too. Since you came knocking on our window, I need to know if you brought any of that shit in our fucking house!"

I should have tried to stop his yelling, if for nothing else then for the frightened boy now standing in the doorway, but I didn't. "Mamma?" Thomas sounded as if he were about to cry and Ana beckoned him to her. She nestled him protectively into her lap, as she must have done a thousand times before, and my heart hurt to watch them.

"Ana," I said, "please."

Looking down again, quietly this time she said, "It's just a scratch."