Performance Anomalies (27 page)

In a sweep of his arm Cono grabbed the barrel of the AK with such force that Tamaris was hurled into the pit beside him, the gun now in his hands. Tamaris was lying on her side.

“Don’t yell,” Cono said quietly. “Your Omar is in his heaven.” He stood over her, searching for signs of other weapons. “Save your life and Mansour’s by doing what I say.”

Tamaris grunted as she kicked a foot toward Cono’s shin. He raised his leg in time for her to miss. Now she was prone, the nub of the gun pressing into her back.

“I didn’t like killing your trigger-happy friend. I don’t want to kill you.” Cono was whispering and glancing toward the door where Mansour was standing just outside.

“You can kill me now,” Tamaris said. “Deliver me to Allah. But you are too weak to do it.”

She screamed.

Cono’s foot was strangely slow as he put it on the back of her neck. Then her mouth was pressed into the dirt, her arms and legs flailing. Cono saw Mansour running from the door toward them. Cono pulled Tamaris up by her collar and stood her in front of him.

“Kill him, Azmat!” she shouted, trying to twist away. Cono slammed her body against the edge of the pit, bending her forward over its edge. He jammed the rifle muzzle into her back, so Mansour—Azmat—could see. Azmat was now sprinting, the pistol jostling in his inexperienced, upraised hand.

“Kill him!”

Azmat halted about fifteen yards away, his eyes fixed on Tamaris and the gun between her shoulder blades. Even with her chin pressed against the floor, Tamaris could see Azmat’s mouth moving with muttered prayers.

“Don’t pray—shoot!”

Cono leaned hard on the rifle. “Azmat,” he said, “put the gun down. Put it down and you’ll both live. I have nothing against you.”

Azmat aimed the gun at Cono, his arm shaking. He didn’t even know to brace the weapon with his other hand.

“
La ilaha illa Allah; Muhammad rasul Allah.
” Cono recited the Arabic affirmation of Allah and his prophet in a loud, clear voice, and the confusion in Azmat’s face intensified. The gun wobbled.
Just a boy, another boy
.

“He’s playing with you, Azmat. Kill him before he kills us both!” Tamaris was wriggling, trying to reach behind to grab the rifle.

Cono saw the sudden firmness in Azmat’s hand and lurched to the right as the young man’s trigger clicked; the discharged bullet cracked the air and plunked into the wall of the pit behind Cono and Tamaris, a few inches from one of Timur’s plastique charges.

Cono shifted to the right until his hip hit the edge of the pit. From this angle there was only a slight gap between the Azmat’s extended pistol and the wired shed farther back.

As Azmat took new aim at Cono, Cono fired a burst of four rounds from the AK. One of the shots made a tinging sound on the metal roof of the shed. The three others passed through Azmat’s wrist and forearm. The pistol fell. Azmat’s arm was still extended, his hand hanging from tendons as blood spurted.

Tamaris lunged at Cono, but his knee met her chest before her hands could strike him. He hit her with the rifle butt, sending her to her knees.

He unbuckled his belt and yanked it from its loops. “Get up. Put a tourniquet on his arm. Quick!” Cono whipped her head with the belt. “He’ll die if you don’t. And you will too.”

Tamaris turned her face upward with a look of scorn. “Death is nothing.” She climbed out of the pit with the belt in hand.

She was a few paces away from Cono when Azmat, still standing, put his remaining hand to his ghostly white face; Cono saw that there was something in his fist, that he was using his teeth to pull the safety pin out of a hand grenade. As the pin came free, Cono leaped out of the pit, taking aim. But the hand holding the grenade, feebly squeezing the safety lever, was now in a direct line with the explosive-rigged shed. Cono eased the pressure of his finger on the trigger.

“Azmat, lie down. She’s coming. Lie down, we’ll help you.”

Azmat’s frightened eyes wavered until they fixed on the boxes of dynamite near the pit. Cono connected Azmat’s gaze with the stack of boxes.

“Go to him!” Cono shouted at Tamaris. She, too, saw Azmat staring at the dynamite; he was going to destroy her mission.

“Azmat, lie down,” she said. “I’m coming. We’ll stop the bleeding from your arm. Lie down and rest, Azmat.”

“No, Tamaris, stay away.” Azmat was still standing, but tilting. “I am ready.”

Cono moved to find an angle for a shot that wouldn’t hit the shed.

“Allahu Akbar!” Azmat swung his arm in a broad arc, launching the grenade toward the boxes of dynamite just as his body toppled over.

To Cono’s eyes the grenade was a blur at first, tumbling against the glow of the suspended umbrella lights. His legs felt sluggish as the AK fell against his ankle.
Just another bird to catch in flight
. The bird disappeared for an instant. Cono was running as it reappeared in the light, flying downward in a perfect arc. He dove and twisted in midair. Pressure on two of his fingertips. The closing of his fist. Nothing. A tap on his chest followed by another at his groin. His empty hand went down and found the metal bulb.
Make it fly, make it fly
.

Cono crashed to the ground, rolled, and eyed the open door to the crusher. His arm seemed not to be his. It accelerated like a jai alai wicker.

The grenade exploded as it passed through the doorway. Cono felt the compression of the air and heard shrapnel striking metal all around him. When he looked up, the doorway was a jagged, cloudy aperture filled with the pink of morning.

He felt a hard point against his neck as he tried to get his legs under him. His belt landed next to him with a slap.

“
You
put on the tourniquet.” Tamaris sensed his disorientation and planted her hiking boot on his rear, shoving him back onto the ground. “Crawl to him.”

The building creaked as a damaged beam shifted. Cono began crawling with the belt in one hand, watching her parallel steps from the corner of his eye. She was staying beyond his reach this time.

“You’d be dead already,” Tamaris said, “but I need a mule.”

Cono reached the puddle of bloody grit next to Azmat. The young man was whispering more prayers. Cono looped the belt around the arm and and cinched it.

“Get me something to prop up his legs, to keep blood in his head. The yellow barrel—roll it over here.”

Tamaris was watching Azmat’s severed wrist; the tourniquet had stopped the pulsations of blood. “You’ve done enough for him.”

“He has to go to a hospital right now. And get me something for his legs!”

Azmat was no longer praying. Cono pressed a finger against his neck.
Tump … tump …

“You are killing your friend unless we get help.”

“I said we’ve done enough for him!”

Cono looked at the blanched, narrow face of Azmat. His eyes were half-open, the lids fluttering as if he were dreaming.

“Get up,” Tamaris said. “Go down and bring up the other one. Move away from him.”

When Cono had backed away, Tamaris bent over and reached into the pocket of Azmat’s sweatshirt and pulled out another grenade. “If you’re not back up in two minutes, I’ll drop this into your grave.”

Cono stood up slowly and wiped the blood on his trousers. “Azmat, you are still in this world. Hear me, Azmat. What pain you must feel in your heart, knowing your comrade is your murderess.”

“
You
are the one who murdered him!” Tamaris pointed the rifle at Cono’s head. “Two minutes.”

As he turned, Cono eyed the gun that had fallen from Azmat’s hand, but it was several steps away. He moved toward the pit, with Tamaris’s aim keenly on the middle of his back.

A metallic banging sound rang out.

Tamaris pulled the AK to her shoulder, ready to shoot, but not knowing where. “What is it?” she hissed.

“The grenade damaged the building,” Cono said. “It’s unstable.”

Another banging noise. Tamaris looked up to the hanging lights. They were not moving. “You have friends here. Bring them out.”

When Cono hesitated, Tamaris tilted her gun slightly upward. “Your death rides a fast camel.” She squeezed off a short burst that riffled the air above Cono’s head.

“Okay.” As Cono turned in the direction of the cylinders he could faintly make out Timur’s head, still strapped with hoses. Tamaris had also seen the blur of a person and was following Cono.

“Bring him out!”

Timur tried to kick Cono as he approached, but Cono maneuvered behind him and grasped his still-tied hands. He gripped Timur’s belt, holding him from behind, and forced him to take two steps forward.

Tamaris edged closer. Timur was squirming against Cono’s grip, trying to speak through the hose tied across his slavering mouth, the air wheezing in and out of his nostrils.

When she was close enough to make out Timur’s face, Tamaris let out a howl of laughter.

“Here you are, our future leader! Drooling and strung up like a marionette.” Tamaris smiled. It was a wide grin, all upper teeth with the gums showing. The grin, too, struck Cono as familiar. “Let this moment be like Allah’s sword, sharp in your memory. Remember who now pulls your strings, and who will slit your throat and kick your head across the dirt like you did to my brother Muktar, Allah be praised for making him a martyr.” She nodded sharply toward Cono. “Take the hose out of the bastard’s mouth.”

A guttural sound escaped from Cono. “
He killed Muktar
? The painter, my friend?” Cono squeezed his arms so tightly into Timur’s belly that Timur couldn’t breathe.

Tamaris’s eyes flickered with surprise and settled back into a hard stare.

“I thought I saw him in your face,” Cono said.

“You are lying.”

“I have one of Muktar’s paintings—human forms eating each other. He gave it to me.”

There was a flash of recognition on Tamaris’s face, and a softening that disappeared as quickly as Cono’s eyes registered it. “You knew Muktar?”

“Yes and no. Distant. I’m sure you know.”

“I know. Now take the hose off.”

Cono stared at the back of Timur’s head and redoubled his suffocating squeeze. “This man took Muktar’s life? It is your duty to avenge your brother. This man spits on you and on Muktar’s grave.”

Timur tried to stomp on Cono’s foot and lunge away, but his movements were sluggish and his chest was heaving for air.

“Yes, he deserves it,” Tamaris said. “But Allah has a different plan. Free his mouth.”

“This man’s tongue is silver,” Cono said.

“
Your
tongue is silver! Take it off. Let him speak!” Tamaris released two shots into the wall just above the men’s heads.

Cono whispered into Timur’s ear as he pushed him closer to Tamaris and her gun. “Brother, you live or die by what you say now …”

Another burst from the rifle, over the two men’s shoulders. All three were close now.

“Okay, I’m taking off the hose.” Cono kept one hand firmly on Timur’s wrists and belt; with the other hand he tugged one loop of hose out of Timur’s mouth and pulled it away. He loosened the other loop as well and started to remove it.

Timur coughed and spat. “He is
C, I,
…”

Cono’s forearm clamped Timur’s trachea shut as he lifted and launched Timur’s body and his own onto Tamaris. She fired, but Timur’s crashing chest deflected the rifle.

Even with the weight of two large men on top of her, Tamaris managed to wedge her hand behind her back and pull out a knife. Timur was kicking and trying to roll out of Cono’s grip.

The flash of Tamaris’s blade came at Cono from the side before he could stop it. It just missed his ribs and instead plunged into the side of Timur’s chest. Cono grabbed Tamaris’s fist and pulled the knife out; his arm was weakening as he tried to resist her repeated jabbing toward his neck. The blade nicked his chin. Cono’s arm regained its strength and he slammed her hand against the floor. Over Timur’s right shoulder Cono saw Tamaris’s other hand ratchet toward her head, holding the grenade she had taken from Azmat.

“Don’t,” Cono said.

Cono heard her teeth gnashing against the ring, trying to pull the pin out.

“For Muktar, don’t.”

Her teeth raked the steel ring again.

Cono wasn’t aware of the tensing of his hand around the fist that held the knife, nor of the ease of the blade’s entry into Tamaris’s ear canal, until the stillness of the three overlapping bodies invited the distant humming of the crusher. Then there was a soft thump on the other side of Tamaris’s head; the grenade, still in her hand, had fallen from her teeth. The pin was in place.

Cono rolled to the side of the mound of bodies like a great cat that had just brought down prey after a long chase. He saw that he still held the knife in Tamaris’s head. He let go and looked at her open eyes; they were already acquiring a glaze, like windowpanes frosting over in winter. Timur’s head was slumped over her shoulder, the two pressed together as if they were lovers exhausted after the throes of sex.