The Book of Q Read Free Page A

submit?”
    Pearse shot a glance over at Josip; the Croat smiled and shook his head. It was clear he was enjoying himself immensely.
    “Well”—Pearse began to move toward her, picking up speed as he spoke—“there’s the direct approach.”
    He was about to hoist her up onto his shoulder, when she suddenly reached out under his arm and twisted. Before he could react, she kicked his legs out from under him, her boot on one of his arms, her knee on his chest, fingers gripping his neck, her thumb held precariously over his Adam’s apple.
    “Didn’t you tell me you once knocked a two-hundred-and- fifty-pound catcher unconscious?” Pearse was about to answer, but she pressed her thumb even closer. “No, no. Save your strength.” The smile reappeared. “Then again, I’m not protecting someone’s little ball, am I?” She pulled her thumb away and straddled his chest. “I’d learn to use the rifle if I were you. Much less dangerous than all of this.”
    She was on her feet, making her way back to the house, before he had a chance to recover.
    “Difficult to gauge this one,” said Josip as he helped Pearse up and handed him the rifle.
    Pearse pulled the strap over his shoulder, all the while his eyes on Petra. “That feels about right.”
    “I’m not talking about the rifle.” He winked and headed for the house.
    “She doesn’t understand why I’ve stayed, does she?”
    Josip stopped, turned. “I don’t know. It’s a good question, though.”
    “I haven’t heard any complaints.”
    “You haven’t gotten any of us killed yet.”
    “Is that what worries her?”
    “No.” Josip looked at the gun, shook his head; he stepped over and began to fiddle with the cord. “American boy comes to deliver food, blankets, maybe a little faith to a people he’s never heard of before.” He pulled down on Pearse’s shoulder. “Bosnians in need of help, spiritual guidance, whichever God they pray to. Simple enough for him to ease his conscience, serve his own God, and move on with the others. But he doesn’t.”
    “That would have been too easy.”
    “There’s nothing easy in it, at all. Difference is, you can leave whenever you want.”
    “But I don’t.”
    “No, you don’t.” He let go of the cord. “And for that reason, you’re as puzzling to us as we are to you. I’m a good Catholic, Ian, but if they weren’t doing this to my home, I wouldn’t be here.”
    “Even if you’d seen the pictures of Omarska?”
    “Thousands have seen the camps. And thousands have shrugged and said how terrible that such a thing can happen in a civilized world. They’re not people without conscience. But it’s not their home. It’s not yours. And yet you stay.”
    “Is that what she thinks?”
    Josip laughed and shook his head. “I have no idea what she thinks. You’ve learned to shoot a rifle. That’s good enough.”
    Pearse returned the smile. “I hope I never have to use it.”
    Josip’s smile disappeared. “Then what would have been the point in learning how?”
    His mangled body had already done much to feed the local wildlife. Little skin remained on the torso and legs, eyes and ears gone. The incongruity of the college bandanna, slightly bloodied, its large ND lashed across his wrists, sickened Pearse as much as the butchered flesh. For thefirst time, he could connect a voice, a smile, an arrogant charm to the obscenity in front of him. For the first time, he wondered how far his faith could be stretched.
    “He said you were crazy for staying.” Petra drew up to his side, her ponytail managing a bit better today. “But I think he admired it.” The two had grown close in the last month, or at least as close as they dared. He had learned how to induce the smile, revel in the fleeting moments when she’d brush the strands from her face, talk of a past she no longer cared to recall with any accuracy.
    They stood there, silently staring.
    “He was so grateful when I gave it to him,” Pearse finally