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all； just felt； the snap of it； the break of a small rabbit bone。 not letting go of her； he moved his hand down her arm and pulled the seven inches of wire out of her still tight grip。
she was looking at him； quizzical； waiting for his answer to what she had said； but he hadn’t heard her。 she shook her head and sat down。 he started collecting various objects around himself； putting them into his satchel。 she looked up into the tree and then only by chance looked back down and saw his hands shaking； tense and hard like an epileptic’s； his breathing deep and fast； over in a moment。 he was crouched over。
“did you hear what i said？” “no。 what was it？” “i thought i was going to die。 i wanted to die。 and i thought if i was going to die i would die with you。 someone like you； young as i am； i saw so many dying near me in the last year。 i didn’t feel scared。 i certainly wasn’t brave just now。 i thought to myself； we have this villa this grass； we should have lain down together； you in my arms； before we died。 i wanted to touch that bone at your neck； collarbone； it’s like a small hard wing under your skin。 i wanted to place my fingers against it。 i’ve always liked flesh the colour of rivers and rocks or like the brown eye of a susan； do you know what that flower is？ have you seen them？ i am so tired； kip； i want to sleep。 i want to sleep under this tree； put my eye against your collarbone i just want to close my eyes without thinking of others； want to find the crook of a tree and climb into it and sleep。 what a careful mind！ to know which wire to cut。 how did you know？ you kept saying i don’t know i don’t know； but you did。 right？ don’t shake； you have to be a still bed for me； let me curl up as if you were a good grandfather i could hug； i love the word ‘curl；’ such a slow word； you can’t rush it。。。” her mouth was against his shirt。 he lay with her on the ground as still as he had to； his eyes clear； looking up into a branch。
he could hear her deep breath。 when he had put his arm around her shoulder she was already asleep but had gripped it against herself。 glancing down he noticed she still had the wire； she must have picked it up again。
it was her breath that was most alive。 her weight seemed so light she must have balanced most of it away from him。 how long could he lie like this； unable to move or turn to busyness。 it was essential to remain still； the way he had relied on statues during those months when they moved up the coast fighting into and beyond each fortress town until there was no difference in them； the same narrow streets everywhere that became sewers of blood so he would dream that if he lost balance he would slip down those slopes on the red liquid and be flung off the cliff into the valley。 every night he had walked into the coldness of a captured church and found a statue for the night to be his sentinel。 he had given his trust only to this race of stones； moving as close as possible against them in the darkness； a grieving angel whose thigh was a woman’s perfect thigh； whose line and shadow appeared so soft。 he would place his head on the lap of such creatures and release himself into sleep。
she suddenly let more weight onto him。 and now her breathing stretched deeper； like the voice of a cello。 he watched her sleeping face。 he was still annoyed the girl had stayed with him when he defused the bomb； as if by that she had made him owe her something。 making him feel in retrospect responsible for her； though there was no thought of that at the time。 as if that could usefully influence what he chose to do with a mine。
but he felt he was now within something； perhaps a painting he had seen somewhere in the last year。 some secure couple in a field。 how many he had seen with their laziness of sleep； with no thought of work or the dangers of the world。 beside him there were the mouselike movements within hana’s breath； her eyebrows rode upon argument； a small fury in her dreaming。
he turned his eyes away； up towards the tree and the sky of white cloud。 her hand gripped him as mud had clung along the bank of the moro river； his fist plunging into the wet earth to stop himself slipping back into the already crossed torrent。
if he were a hero in a painting； he could claim a just sleep。
but as even she had said； he was the brownness of a rock； the brownness of a muddy storm…fed river。 and something in him made him step back from even the naive innocence of such a remark。 the successful defusing of a bomb ended novels。 wise white fatherly men shook hands； were acknowledged； and limped away； having been coaxed out of solitude for this special occasion。 but he was a professional。 and he remained the foreigner； the sikh。 his only human and personal contact was this enemy who had made the bomb and departed brushing his tracks with a branch behind him。
why couldn’t he sleep？ why couldn’t he turn towards the girl； stop thinking everything was still half lit； hanging fire？ in a painting of his imagining the field surrounding this embrace would have been in flames。 he had once followed a sapper’s entrance into a mined house with binoculars。 he had seen him brush a box of matches off the edge of a table and be enveloped by light for the half…second before the crumpling sound of the bomb reached him。 what lightning was like in
how could he trust even this circle of elastic on the sleeve of the girl’s frock that gripped her arm？ or the rattle in her intimate breath asdeep as stones within a river。
she woke when the caterpillar moved from the collar of her dress onto her cheek； and she opened her eyes； saw him crouched over her。 he plucked it from her face； not touching her skin； and placed it in the grass。 she noticed he had already packed up his equipment。 he moved back and sat against the tree； watching her as she rolled slowly onto her back and then stretched； holding that moment for as long as she could。 it must have been afternoon； the sun over there。 she leaned her head back and looked at him。
“you were supposed to hold onto me！” “i did。 till you moved away。” “how long did you hold me？” “until you moved。 until you needed to move。” “i wasn’t tak