Unidentified Woman—a literary mystery novel
about rape, revenge, and redemption—follows a young Mexican girl, Maria Sanchez, who is kidnapped on her way
to school one morning. She is enslaved and repeatedly, brutally raped by paying
costumers, mostly Americans. But she survives and grows up to become an
independent young woman living in Los Angeles. She tracks down all those men
who wronged her, exerting a deadly, unusual punishment.
On her footsteps, following the
police failure to capture her, is Gideon Gold: a reluctant, amateur private
investigator, and a former commander of an elite Israeli paratroops unit and
a Mossad secret agent. His frantic pursuit of her takes unexpected
twists and turns, culminating in a dramatic, compelling game of cat-and-mouse
that will change both of their lives forever.
~~~
About the Author: Hillel F. Damron was born in Israel
to parents who survived the Holocaust. He was an officer at an elite paratroops
unit and was wounded in battle. He studied films at the London Film School
and became a film director of TV documentaries, a feature film, and numerous
video shorts. He is the award-winning author of a Sci-fi novel, short stories
and film reviews. His novel Very Narrow Bridge, a first in the series of
Gideon Gold’s Investigation, was published last year.
This year in February he was awarded Moment Magazine’s prize
for winning its memoir contest with his entry: The Sweet Life. And this summer, August 15th, his second novel in the series of Gideon
Gold’s Investigation will be
published throughout the E-reader Universe.
Be the first to read an excerpt,
and have an initial clue on the road to solving the mystery: who is she,
the Unidentified Woman, and what’s her story? Here how it begins:
Capirato, Mexico. October 12, 1976
“If life is a garden,
Women are the
flowers.
Men are the
gardeners,
Who pick up the
prettiest ones.”
I sing this song while jumping rope with Adela, my best
friend, before going off to school. I’m only twelve, but Mami keeps telling me
I should grow up and stop jumping rope. Do things girls my age are supposed to
be doing, like help her in the kitchen and learn how to sew. I hate it when she
says that. I keep holding tight to the rope that connects me to my childhood,
afraid of losing it, afraid of growing up. It’s as if somehow, don’t know how,
I know what lies ahead.
The dirt road to school, that’s
what lies ahead, where Adela and I run hand in hand. We skip between the small
stones, still singing that silly song a boy at school taught us yesterday,
about the flowers and the gardeners. And laughing about it, too, questioning
who is the prettiest one: her or me? And this boy, Angelo his name, is he in
love with me or with her?
We come off the bend to the only
half paved road in our poor little village, happy to bounce on solid ground.
Just then a black car suddenly stops near us making noise and raising dust.
Never before in my life have I seen such a beautiful, shiny car. I can see
myself reflected in it, like in a twisted mirror.
But only for a second. Because the
back window rolls down immediately and a man pokes out his head, asking me for
my name. “Maria,” I say. (I hate my name, it’s so… so ordinario.) He asks me to
come over and show him the way to our school. I don’t know why I didn’t run
away at that moment. Maybe it’s because Mami always told me to obey men.
Especially older men.
He opens the door when I get closer
and grabs me by the hand and pulls me inside. He is strong and he places me in
the back between his legs, pushing my head down. I left my schoolbag on the
dirt road behind. But why, I will need it soon? No matter, Adela will bring it
to school. Of course she would. That’s where we are going, isn’t it? It’s only
a game.
The car takes off screaming. I want
to scream, too, but I can’t. His stinky hand is on my mouth. It hurts so much
so I bite it. He curses bad words and hits me on the back of my head. Now I
really scream. He is strangling me. I can’t breathe. His firm thighs clap my
hips. I can’t move. I can’t shout. I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes, I’m afraid
the world that was promised me—going to school with Adela, meeting Angelo and
our other friends there, studying history which I like the most, our daytrip
next week to the Mayan ruins, graduation, going to trade school, falling in
love, marrying and having children—may be gone and lost forever. And together
with the cloud of dust I imagine the speeding car is raising behind as it
leaves our village, an evil cloud is falling over me. Covering me with eternal
darkness and sadness.
Here’s Another excerpt:
I feel lucky today, Adela. I breathe the crisp spring air. I
listen to the singing of the birds. I smell wild flowers. I shake my hair loose
and let it fly. The promise of quiet is suddenly all around me, and I can hear
myself thinking for the first time since I was kidnapped. Maybe there is a
future for me after all, like Big Mamá
said.
I’m working alone, the way Mario
told me to. Not with the other workers I saw on the way before we entered this
narrow valley. The work is easy, much better than the hard work at the factory.
I water the coca plants with a hose. That’s all I do. It’s a young field and
the shrubs are about my size, no more than one meter and twenty tall. They
don’t seem thirsty to me, the plants, but still, I fill this shallow circle that
surrounds them with water. I just look at the water streaming so nicely. Then
when it’s full, I move the hose to the next plant. I feel a gentle breeze
coming down from the hills. I hear only birds and the whisper of the wind. I
see the water swirling and I see the butterflies fly around me. My wish at this
moment is to be a butterfly.
But suddenly—don’t know how, don’t
know why—I see a shadow in the water circling the plant. I hear footsteps, too.
And when I raise my head to look, the man is too close for me to run away. He
is tall and old and Gringo. He is wearing boots and a cowboy hat. Like in a
movie we saw together once, Adela, in our village. Remember?
I let the hose drop down from my
hand and take a step back. That’s when he takes his hat off and throws it on
the ground. His head is bald like a melon, and so ugly. He looks me up and
down. He smiles. Evil smile.
“You’re mine, Little Maria,” he
says in Spanish with an American accent.
How does he know my name? I hate
that name. One day I’m going to change it. I turn around and begin to run. He
chases after me and grabs me from behind. I scream but nobody hears me. Where
is Mario? Where is Big Mamá?
Where are the other workers I saw when we drove in here? Where is everybody?
Watch for an Interview with the Author and My Review on the 14th and 15th! Find Hillel Damron at these sites!
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