“Kane and Abel. The best revenge », the opening words of Jeffrey Archer’s most famous novel

1. April 18, 1906, Slonim, Poland

The woman stopped screaming only when she died. That was when I started

to scream at him.

The kid chasing rabbits in the woods wasn’t sure if

it was the last cry that alerted his young ears

of the woman or the first of the child. He turned, sensing a

possible danger by looking at an animal in

agony. But he had never heard an animal scream in that

way. He walked slowly and cautiously towards that sound: the scream

now it had turned into a moan, but it still didn’t

resemble the call of no animal known to him.

He hoped it was small enough to kill him:

it would have been something other than the usual rabbit for dinner.

He stalked toward the river, from which that came

strange sound, leaping from tree to tree; the bark that

it touched his shoulders gave him a sense of protection, something

of palpable. Never run out of shelter, she had taught him his

father. When he got to the edge of the woods, he could have one

good view over the entire valley, down to the river below, and even

at that point it takes me some time to understand that it is strange

lament did not come from just any animal. From there I crawl

towards the groan, coming out into the open.

It was then that he saw the woman, with the dress raised to the top

waist, bare legs apart. He had never seen one

woman in that state. He ran quickly to his side and her

stared at her belly, too scared to touch it. Between the legs

of the woman lay a small pink animal, covered in blood and

attached to her by something that resembled a rope. The young man

hunter dropped the newly hunted rabbits and let himself go

fall to your knees next to the little creature.

He remained for a long moment to gaze at her fascinated, after which

I look at the woman. He regretted immediately

to have done so. It was already bluish from the cold: hers

The boy’s young, tired face looked middle-aged. He did not

need to be told she was dead. He picked up the little body

slimy that lay in the grass between the woman’s legs. Self

someone had asked him why – no one ever did

– he would have replied that his fingernails had worried him

with which the baby was scratching went the wrinkled face.

The mother and the child were tied together by that cord

slimy. The boy had witnessed the birth of a lamb

a few days before and I try to remember. Yes, that’s what he had

made the shepherd. But he could have dared so much with a

child? The whining stopped abruptly and he understood

that it was urgent to make a decision. Draw the knife, that

with which he skinned rabbits, I wipe it on my sleeve and,

after a moment’s hesitation, I cut the cord by keeping close

to the child’s body. From the cut ends came out of the

blood. At that point, when the lamb was born, what did it have

made the shepherd? He had tied a knot to stop the blood.

Sure sure. The boy plucked some tufts or grass from the

to his side and made a quick, rudimentary knot on the

cord. After that, she took the baby in her arms, and I start over

to cry. He slowly rose from his kneeling position

and leave behind three dead rabbits and a woman,

also died after giving birth to that child.

But first, he closed her legs, stretched them out and pulled her dress down

on the knees. It seemed like the right thing to do.

“God of Heaven,” he said aloud, what he always said

after doing something very good or very bad. Not

he knew very well which of the two it was.

The young hunter ran to the cottage where his mother was

he was probably preparing dinner, just waiting

of his rabbits: the rest had to be ready. Probably

he was wondering how many had hunted that one

day: with eight mouths to feed in the family, they needed it

at least three. Sometimes, he happened to come back with a duck,

a goose or even a pheasant that has strayed from the estate

of the baron where his father worked. That evening,

he had found a different animal.

Arrived at the cottage, I dare not give up his prey, not even

with one hand, and so with my bare foot I start kicking

the door until her mother opens. Without saying anything, I raise

the child towards her. She did not make the immediate gesture of

take it from her hands, but she stayed where she was, covering herself

his mouth with one hand, his eyes fixed on that creature

unfortunate.

“God of heaven,” he said, making the sign of the cross. The boy

I scan her face for a sign of joy or anger

and he saw a tenderness shine in his eyes that he did not have

never seen before. And then he understood that what he had done he had to

to be good.

“It’s a boy,” his mother said, welcoming the baby

In his arms. ≪Where did you find it? ≫

≪ Down to the river, mother≫ he said.

≪E the mother? ≫

≪Morta.≫

Yes sign again.

“Quick, go tell your father what happened. He will find Urszula

Wojnak at the estate and you will accompany them both

from the mother. Make sure they both come back here afterwards

The boy rubbed his hands on his pants, glad that

that slippery creature hadn’t gotten out of hand, and yes

they run away to go find his father.

The mother shoved the door shut and said loudly

voice to Florentyna, his eldest daughter, to put the pot

on fire. He sat down on a wooden stool, unbuttoned the

bodice and pushed a tired nipple towards the wrinkled mouth.

Sophia, his youngest daughter, only six months old, that one

evening she would be left without supper. Now that he thought about it, the same

what would happen to the whole family.

“And what for?” The woman said aloud, clutching him

shawl around the baby. ≪This poor little fellow in the morning

will be dead

An omen that does not repeat to Urszula Wojnak upon her arrival,

a couple of hours later. The elderly midwife washed the little body and yes

took care of the twisted stump of the umbilical cord. The

The woman’s husband remained silent by the burning fireplace,

observing the scene.

“A guest in the house brings God into the house,” the woman declared, quoting

an old Polish proverb.

Her husband spat. ≪He gets cholera. We have children

enough already

The woman pretended not to hear him as he caressed the few

dark hair on the head of the newborn.

≪What do we call him? She asked.

Her husband shrugged. What does it matter?

Let him go to the grave without a name

© 1979, 2009 Jeffrey Archer

Published 1979 by Hodder & Stoughton Ltd 2019 by Macmillan Books an Imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, London, UK © 2021 HarperCollins Italia S.p.A.

JEFFREY ARCHER Baron Archer of Weston-super-Mare, was born in England in 1940 and graduated from Oxford. Candidate for mayor of London and member of the European Parliament, he was a Member of the House of Lords for twenty-five years. Writer and playwright, author of novels, collections of short stories, plays and essays, with his books he is regularly at the top of the charts all over the world. Married for over fifty years with a university friend, he has two children and lives between London, Cambridge and Mallorca. With HarperCollins he published The Clifton Saga. Kane and Abel – The best revenge, first published in 1979, is the first title in the saga dedicated to the Rosnovski and Kane families. Will follow will be power and never was glory.