{"product_id":"without-blood-isbn-9781400034789","title":"Without Blood","description":"\u003cb\u003eSOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE • From the author of the acclaimed international bestseller \u003ci\u003eSilk\u003c\/i\u003e, an unforgettable fable about the brutality of war – and one girl's quest for revenge and healing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Baricco continues to blend the best elements of cinema and poetry. . . . \u003ci\u003eWithout Blood\u003c\/i\u003e applies the delicacy of Baricco's style to dark territory: war, human cruelty and revenge”\u003c\/b\u003e —\u003ci\u003eSan Franciso Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e When – in an unnamed place and time – Manuel Roca's enemies hunt him down to kill him, they fail to discover Nina, his youngest child, hidden in a hole beneath his farmhouse floor. After this carnage Tito, one of the murderers, discovers Nina's trapdoor. Enthralled by the sight of Nina's perfect innocence, he keeps quiet. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e By the time she has grown up, Nina's innocence will have bloomed into something else altogether, and one by one the wartime hunters will become the peacetime hunted. But not until a striking old woman calls upon a familiar old man selling newspapers in town can we know what Nina will ultimately make of her brutal legacy.\u003cbr\u003e  “Mesmerizing and starkly beautiful. . .  . The effect is awesome.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003ci\u003eThe Observer\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Powerful. . . . Designed not  for consumption, but for meditation. This story hangs around the neck, curls into  you.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003ci\u003eReview of Contemporary Fiction\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The lightness of Baricco's prose and his  ability to zero in on inexplicable moments of beauty and meaning make \u003ci\u003eWithout Blood\u003c\/i\u003e a compelling read.”\u003cbr\u003e —\u003ci\u003eTime Out New York\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAlessandro Baricco\u003c\/b\u003e was born in Turin in 1958. The author of four previous novels, he has won the Prix Medicis Etranger in France and the Selezione Campiello, Viareggio, and Palazzo del Bosco prizes in Italy. His third novel, \u003ci\u003eSilk, \u003c\/i\u003ebecame an immediate bestseller in Italy and has been translated into twenty-seven languages. It is the basis of an opera by Andre Previn and a film produced by Miramax.The old farmhouse of Mato Rujo stood blankly in the countryside,  carved in black against the evening light, the only stain in the  empty outline of the plain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe four men arrived in an old Mercedes. The road was pitted and  dry--a mean road of the countryside. From the farmhouse, Manuel Roca  saw them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe went to the window. First he saw the column of dust rising against  the corn. Then he heard the sound of the engine. No one had a car  anymore, around here. Manuel Roca knew it. He saw the Mercedes emerge  in the distance and disappear behind a line of oaks. Then he stopped  looking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe returned to the table and placed a hand on his daughter's head.  Get up, he told her. He took a key from his pocket, put it on the  table, and nodded at his son. Yes, the son said. They were children,  just two children.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the crossroads where the stream ran the old Mercedes did not turn  off to the farmhouse but continued toward Alvarez instead. The four  men traveled in silence. The one driving had on a sort of uniform.  The other sitting in front wore a cream-colored suit. Pressed. He was  smoking a French cigarette. Slow down, he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Manuel Roca heard the sound fade into the distance toward Alvarez.  Who do they think they're fooling? he thought. He saw his son come  back into the room with a gun in his hand and another under his arm.  Put them there, he said. Then he turned to his daughter. Come, Nina.  Don't be afraid. Come here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The well-dressed man put out his cigarette on the dashboard of the  Mercedes, then told the one who was driving to stop. This is good,  here, he said. And shut off that infernal engine. He heard the slide  of the hand brake, like a chain falling into a well. Then nothing. It  was as if the countryside had been swallowed up in an unalterable  silence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt would have been better to go straight there, said one of the two  sitting in back. Now he'll have time to run, he said. He had a gun in  his hand. He was only a boy. They called him Tito.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe won't run, said the well-dressed man. He's had it with running. Let's go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Manuel Roca moved aside some baskets of fruit, bent over, raised a  hidden trapdoor, and looked inside. It was little more than a big  hole dug into the earth, like the den of an animal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Listen to me, Nina. Now, some people are coming, and I don't want  them to see you. You have to hide in here, the best thing is for you  to hide in here and wait until they go away. Do you understand?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You just have to stay here and be quiet.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"...\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Whatever happens, you mustn't come out, you mustn't move, just stay  here, be quiet, and wait.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"...\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Everything will be all right.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Okay.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Listen to me. It's possible I may have to go away with these men.  Don't come out until your brother comes to get you, do you  understand? Or until you can tell that no one is there and it's all  over.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Okay.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I want you to wait until there's no one there.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"...\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't be afraid, Nina, nothing's going to happen to you. All right?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Give me a kiss.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe girl pressed her lips against her father's forehead. He caressed her hair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Everything will be all right, Nina.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe remained standing there, as if there were still something he had  to say, or do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This isn't what I intended,\" he said. \"Remember, always, that this  is not what I intended.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe child searched instinctively in her father's eyes for something  that might help her understand. She saw nothing. Her father leaned  over and kissed her lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Now go, Nina. Go on, down you go.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe child let herself fall into the hole. The earth was hard and dry.  She lay down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Wait, take this.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe father handed her a blanket. She spread it over the dirt and lay  down again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe heard her father say something to her, then she saw the trapdoor  lowered. She closed her eyes and opened them. Blades of light  filtered through the floorboards. She heard the voice of her father  as he went on speaking to her. She heard the sound of the baskets  dragged across the floor. It grew darker under there. Her father  asked her something. She answered. She was lying on one side. She had  bent her legs, and there she was, curled up, as if in her bed, with  nothing to do but go to sleep, and dream. She heard her father say  something else, gently, leaning down toward the floor. Then she heard  a shot, and the sound of a window breaking into a thousand pieces.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"ROCA!...COME OUT, ROCA...DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID, JUST COME OUT.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eManuel Roca looked at his son. He crept toward the boy, careful not  to move into the open. He reached for the gun on the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Get away from there! Go and hide in the woodshed. Don't come out,  don't make a sound, don't do anything. Take the gun and keep it  loaded.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe child stared at him without moving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Go on. Do what I tell you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the child took a step toward him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNina heard a hail of shots sweep the house, above her. Dust and bits  of glass slid along the cracks in the floor. She didn't move. She  heard a voice calling from outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"WELL, ROCA? DO WE HAVE TO COME AND GET YOU?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'M TALKING TO YOU, ROCA. DO I HAVE TO COME AND\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGET YOU?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe child was standing there, in the open. He had taken his gun, but  was holding it in one hand, pointing it down and swinging it back and  forth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Go,\" said the father. \"Did you hear me? Get out of here.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe child went toward him. What he was thinking was that he would  kneel on the floor, and be embraced by his father. He imagined  something like that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe father pointed the other gun at him. He spoke in a low, fierce voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Go, or I'll kill you myself.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNina heard that voice again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"LAST CHANCE, ROCA.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGunfire fanned the house, back and forth like a pendulum, as if it  would never end, back and forth like the beam of a lighthouse over a  coal-black sea, patiently.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNina closed her eyes. She flattened herself against the blanket and  curled up even tighter, pulling her knees to her chest. She liked  being in that position. She felt the earth, cool, under her side,  protecting her--it would not betray her. And she felt her own  curled-up body, folded around itself like a shell--she liked  this--she was shell and animal, her own shelter, she was everything,  she was everything for herself, nothing could hurt her as long as she  remained in this position. She reopened her eyes, and thought, Don't  move, you're happy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eManuel Roca saw his son disappear behind the door. Then he raised  himself just enough to glance out the window. All right, he thought.  He moved to another window, rose, quickly took aim, and fired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe man in the cream-colored suit cursed and threw himself to the  ground. Look at this bastard, he said. He shook his head. How about  this son of a bitch? He heard two more shots from the farmhouse. Then  he heard the voice of Manuel Roca.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"FUCK OFF, SALINAS.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe man in the cream-colored suit spat. Go fuck yourself, you  bastard. He glanced to his right and saw that El Gurre was sneering,  flattened behind a stack of wood. He was holding a machine gun in his  right hand, and with his left he searched his pocket for a cigarette.  He didn't seem to be in a hurry. He was small and thin, he wore a  dirty hat on his head and on his feet enormous mountain clogs. He  looked at Salinas. He found\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe cigarette. He put it between his lips. Everyone called him\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre. He got up and began shooting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNina heard the burst of gunfire sweep the house, above her. Then  silence. And immediately afterward another burst, longer. She kept  her eyes open. She looked at the cracks in the floor. She looked at  the light, and the dust that came from up there. Every so often she  saw a shadow pass, and that was her father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSalinas crawled over beside El Gurre, behind the woodpile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"How long would it take Tito to get in?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre shrugged his shoulders. He still had the sneer on his face.  Salinas glanced at the farmhouse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We'll never get in from here: either he does it or we're in deep shit.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre lighted the cigarette. He said that the kid was quick and  could manage it. He said that he knew how to slither like a snake and  that they would have to trust him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But we'll need a little distraction.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eManuel Roca saw El Gurre emerge from behind the woodpile and throw  himself to the ground. From that position the machine-gun volley  arrived punctually, prolonged. I've got to get out of here, Roca  thought. Ammunition. First ammunition, then crawl to the kitchen and  from there straight for the fields. Wait. El Gurre isn't stupid, he  must have someone behind the house, too. But no one's firing from  that direction. If someone were there, he would be firing. Maybe El  Gurre isn't in charge. Maybe it's that coward Salinas. If it's  Salinas, I can handle it. He doesn't have a clue, that Salinas. Stay  behind your desk, Salinas, it's the only thing you know how to do.  But first go screw yourself. First the ammunition.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre was shooting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAmmunition. And money. Maybe I can take the money with me, too. I  should have run immediately, that's what I should have done. God  damn. Now I've got to get out of here, if only he would stop for a  second, where did he get a machine gun? They have a car and a machine  gun. Too much, Salinas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe ammunition. Now the money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre fired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nina heard the windows pulverize under the machine-gun shots. Then  leaves of silence between one burst and the next. In the silence, the  shadow of her father crept between the glass. With one hand she  adjusted her skirt. She was like an artisan intent on refining his  work. Curled on her side, she began eliminating the imprecisions one  by one. She lined up her feet until she felt her legs perfectly  coupled, the two thighs softly joined, the knees like two cups one  inside the other, the calves barely separated. She checked the  symmetry of her shoes, paired as if in a shop window, but on their  sides, you might have said lying down, out of exhaustion. She liked  that orderliness. If you are a shell, order is important. If you are  shell and animal, everything has to be perfect. Precision will save  you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe heard the pounding of a long volley. And right afterward the  voice of a boy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Put down the gun, Roca.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Manuel Roca turned his head. He saw Tito standing a few yards away.  He was pointing a pistol at him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Put down that gun and don't move.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e From outside came another burst of gunfire. But the boy didn't move,  he stood there, gun pointed. Under that rain of shots, the two stood  motionless, staring at each other, the two like one animal that had  stopped breathing. Manuel Roca, half lying on the ground, looked the  boy in the eyes, as he stood there, in the open. He tried to  comprehend if he was a child or a soldier, if it was his thousandth  time or his first, and if there was a brain attached to that gun or  only blind instinct. He saw the barrel of the gun tremble just  perceptibly, as if it were making a tiny scribble in the air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Stay calm, kid,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSlowly he placed the rifle on the floor. With a kick he sent it  sliding into the center of the room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Everything's okay, kid,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTito didn't take his eyes off him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Quiet, Roca, and don't move.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother blast arrived. El Gurre was working methodically. The boy  waited until he finished, without lowering his gun\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eor his gaze. When silence returned, he glanced toward the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"SALINAS! I'VE GOT HIM. STOP IT, I'VE GOT HIM.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd after a moment:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's Tito. I've got him.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He's done it. Shit,\" said Salinas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre made a kind of smile, without turning. He was observing the  barrel of the machine gun as if he had carved it himself, in idle  hours, from the branch of an ash tree.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTito looked for them in the light from the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSlowly Manuel Roca got up just enough so that he could lean his back  against the wall. He thought of the gun pressing into his side, stuck  in his pants. He tried to remember if it was loaded. He touched it  with one hand. The boy didn't notice anything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLet's go, Salinas said. They went around the stack of wood and headed  straight for the farmhouse. Salinas walked slightly bent, as he had  seen it done in films. He was ridiculous like all men who fight:  without realizing it. They were crossing the farmyard when they  heard, from inside, a gunshot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre ran. He reached the door of the farmhouse and kicked it  open. Three years earlier, he had kicked open the door of the stable,  had entered and had seen his wife hanging from the ceiling, and his  two daughters with their heads shaved, their thighs spattered with  blood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe kicked open the door and went in and saw Tito, pointing the gun  toward a corner of the room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I had to do it. He has a gun,\" the boy said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre looked in the corner. Roca was lying on his back. He was  bleeding from one arm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I think he has a gun,\" the boy said again. \"Hidden somewhere,\" he added.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEl Gurre went over to Manuel Roca.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe looked at the wound in his arm. Then he looked the man in the face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Hello, Roca,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe placed one shoe on Roca's wounded arm and began to crush it. Roca  shrieked and folded over on himself in pain. The gun slid out of his  pants. El Gurre leaned down to pick it up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're a smart kid,\" he said. Tito nodded. He realized that he still  had his arm extended in front of him, and the gun in his hand,  pointed at Roca. He lowered it. He felt his two fingers relax around  the trigger of the pistol. His whole hand hurt, as if he had been  punching a wall. Stay calm, he thought.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301675225317,"sku":"NP9781400034789","price":14.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781400034789.jpg?v=1767744443","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/without-blood-isbn-9781400034789","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}