Treasure of the World Tara Sullivan (inspirational books for women TXT) 📖

of them lands a hit on the other. They’re drenched in sweat and both are bleeding freely from nose and mouth, but neither stops. I stare at them.

Of all the places and ways I expected to see Victor again, this would never have been one of them. The last time I saw my friend was at our fathers’ funeral last week. With everything that’s been going on in my family, I hadn’t checked on him. I figured he was still working in the mine.

The boys circle each other, searching for an advantage. I stare at the bare back, the sweaty shoulders, the ragged bangs spattered with blood half covering his eyes. Victor is my best friend. And yet the boy in front of me is someone I don’t recognize.

Just then, Victor glances into the crowd and sees me. His hands drop in surprise as he gapes at me and the other boy takes advantage of his inattention and lands a brutal hit to his jaw. I hear the clack of his teeth as his head snaps from the blow, and then the light goes out of my friend’s eyes as he crumples to the ground in a faint.

The crowd hollers and roils around us and I clutch at Yenni’s arm, not wanting to lose her, my one tether to things that make sense in this world. Around me, I see money changing hands and hear men shouting to each other, but somehow I can’t get meaning out of it. I’m used to the quiet, lonely poverty of our little house. This loud, aggressive poverty is new to me, and I find it upsetting. I realize I’m shaking. Yenni points toward the other side of the ring. I see one man is holding up the arms of the winner, calling for cheers, and another is dragging Victor’s body out of the dusty ring. His head lolls over his shoulder and the dirt of the floor sticks to his sweat. The man pulls him out a back door.

I’m walking that way before I even realize I’m doing it. This time Yenni is my shadow as I push through the herd of men. My eyes don’t leave that door. I haven’t managed to find my brother. I’m not about to lose my best friend too.

When Yenni and I make it to the far side of the room, the man who pulled Victor out of the ring blocks our way. I try not to cringe under his piggy-eyed gaze.

“You can’t come through here,” he says. His face is wide and puffy, and his nose is crooked from having been broken many times. “No one is allowed to see the fighters when they’re not in the ring.”

I can tell he’s not going to change his mind. All of the kindness has been punched out of that face. Turning away, I push my way through the sweaty crush of bodies. They’re cheering again for some other blood match. Shoulders shove me, but I ignore the men and make my way out the door into the startling brightness of the open street beyond.

I stand there for a moment, grappling with the impossibility that this is still Tuesday afternoon; that the sun is still shining. My friend is lying, sweaty and bloody, inside the dark building behind me. My brother is still missing, maybe dead. And out here, the world is going on exactly as it has been, without a change, without noticing the giant black void that has opened up inside me.

“Ana. Ana! Are you okay?” Yenni puts a hand on my arm and peers into my face.

I blink at her. No, I’m not okay. Everything is falling apart and I have no idea what to do about it.

“I’m fine,” I manage to choke out. I take a deep, steadying breath. “Thank you for helping me so much, Yenni. You should go back to the posada now so you don’t get in trouble. I know my way home from here,” I lie. “As soon as I get home, I’ll wash these clothes and get them back to you.”

“You’d better,” says Yenni, swallowing my candy-coated lie without even pausing to taste it. “That ratty old thing is my favorite.” She gives me a quick hug. “Be careful,” she says. “This is not a good part of town. Hurry home.”

With a final squeeze, she leaves me. I watch her until she turns a corner and is lost to sight, then I face the still-crowded door of the fighting den. I can’t just stand, waiting, in the middle of the road in front of the building, so I move up the street a little way and find a shadowed doorway to lean in. It smells like pee, but I ignore it, keeping my eyes fixed on the last place I saw my friend.

That piggy-eyed door guard has no idea how stubborn I can be. He may not let me in to see Victor, but he can’t stop me from meeting him when he comes out.

I watch the sun creep its way across the spit-colored sky. I ignore my body asking for food, for water, for the chance to sit down, to doze, to pee. I ignore the leering men, stinking of alcohol, my heart pounding in my chest but my face flat. Through it all, I watch that door, carefully examining anyone who goes in or out.

It’s almost full dark and I’m starting to worry about safety when I finally recognize the hunched shadow of Victor leaving the building. He turns and starts limping up the street away from me.

“Victor!” I call.

“Ana!” He laughs disbelievingly, rubbing the back of his neck with a split-knuckled hand. “I thought that was you I saw earlier. How do you always manage to show up in the worst places?”

I jog up to him.

“You’re one to talk,” I say, forcing a smile. “You’re always in the worst places first.”

Victor huffs another laugh. “I suppose you’re right about that. Seriously, though, what are