around the house.
The big place was locked up, with the shades and curtains drawn. The Opel had disappeared. We walked around back to a path that led down to the sea, going just far enough for a view of the dock. The same yacht that was always there bobbed on the incoming waves, but there was no smaller craft like the one they’d used last night. I wondered when they had picked up the Opel. Had there been a fourth man helping out, someone I hadn’t seen? A resident of the island, perhaps? Maybe that’s where the smell of cigarette smoke had come from in our house, someone local paid to case the place for the easiest points of entry. Meaning they might still have a way to keep an eye on us.
Mila said nothing, just followed in my wake as I doubled back. I tried the sliding doors and window locks at the rear of the house, but they didn’t budge. We peered through an opening in the curtains, but you could hardly see a thing. Then Mila touched my shoulder just as a gruff Greek voice spoke up from behind.
“Do you need assistance?”
I turned. A stocky fellow who could have been Stavros’s cousin stood with dirt on his pants and a shovel in his hands. He was frowning.
“Oh, hello. No. Just looking for someone.”
“There is no one here.”
“There was last night. Do you know where they’ve gone?”
He shook his head, the mute certainty of the villager.
“No one has been here for weeks. Do you know this is private land?”
“Yes,” Mila said, trying to sound neighborly. “We’re going now. We live near here, just down the road.”
“I know. Stavros told me.”
The remark was innocent enough, but under the circumstances it stung like a betrayal. That was when I realized that we would always be outsiders here, just like DeKuyper, only with less power and pull, and on a much smaller budget. No matter how many goats we herded or pots we made, we would forever be visitors, even as years gave way to decades. I was reminded of the scrub pines that grew on the island’s windward side, with gnarled roots barely clinging to the rocks. Even after a hundred years they scarcely grew taller than eight feet. All that endurance, and so little to show for it.
“Then maybe you could tell Stavros not to smoke so much next time he comes looking for my shotgun shells. Or maybe it was you who did the poking around?”
Mila tugged at my sleeve, and the man with the shovel just stood there, no change in his expression. I reluctantly gave up on the cause, and we walked back to our scooters while he followed like a terrier. As we twisted the handlebar grips to accelerate across the gravel, I felt his eyes on our backs, a sensation that lingered all the way down the hill. For the first time, our plans for making a life here seemed like an empty gesture, an elaborate hoax.
Back at the house, Mila got right to the point.
“Why are you really doing this? What have they done to make you take this job? Because if it’s about me, I can take it.”
No, actually you couldn’t. That’s what I wanted to say, but knew better. So I looked into her unwavering gaze and tried to assess how close I could come to leveling with her.
“They seem to think they’ve cooked up some sort of case against me. From all the deals we had to make with Mbweli.”
She shook her head, and seemed to shiver a little. Mbweli had always upset her, and that was without even knowing the worst of what he had threatened.
“But you had no choice,” she said, repeating what I had told her long ago. “No one did. It’s the same way things worked in Sarajevo. We used to lose twenty percent of every convoy that came across Mount Igman. After a while it was like a regular highway toll.”
“Maybe. But they seem to think certain prosecutors might not see it that way. And even if they couldn’t make the charges stick, well, you know how those things can go.”
“That’s ridiculous, especially after what happened in Tanzania. All of the audits cleared you
The big place was locked up, with the shades and curtains drawn. The Opel had disappeared. We walked around back to a path that led down to the sea, going just far enough for a view of the dock. The same yacht that was always there bobbed on the incoming waves, but there was no smaller craft like the one they’d used last night. I wondered when they had picked up the Opel. Had there been a fourth man helping out, someone I hadn’t seen? A resident of the island, perhaps? Maybe that’s where the smell of cigarette smoke had come from in our house, someone local paid to case the place for the easiest points of entry. Meaning they might still have a way to keep an eye on us.
Mila said nothing, just followed in my wake as I doubled back. I tried the sliding doors and window locks at the rear of the house, but they didn’t budge. We peered through an opening in the curtains, but you could hardly see a thing. Then Mila touched my shoulder just as a gruff Greek voice spoke up from behind.
“Do you need assistance?”
I turned. A stocky fellow who could have been Stavros’s cousin stood with dirt on his pants and a shovel in his hands. He was frowning.
“Oh, hello. No. Just looking for someone.”
“There is no one here.”
“There was last night. Do you know where they’ve gone?”
He shook his head, the mute certainty of the villager.
“No one has been here for weeks. Do you know this is private land?”
“Yes,” Mila said, trying to sound neighborly. “We’re going now. We live near here, just down the road.”
“I know. Stavros told me.”
The remark was innocent enough, but under the circumstances it stung like a betrayal. That was when I realized that we would always be outsiders here, just like DeKuyper, only with less power and pull, and on a much smaller budget. No matter how many goats we herded or pots we made, we would forever be visitors, even as years gave way to decades. I was reminded of the scrub pines that grew on the island’s windward side, with gnarled roots barely clinging to the rocks. Even after a hundred years they scarcely grew taller than eight feet. All that endurance, and so little to show for it.
“Then maybe you could tell Stavros not to smoke so much next time he comes looking for my shotgun shells. Or maybe it was you who did the poking around?”
Mila tugged at my sleeve, and the man with the shovel just stood there, no change in his expression. I reluctantly gave up on the cause, and we walked back to our scooters while he followed like a terrier. As we twisted the handlebar grips to accelerate across the gravel, I felt his eyes on our backs, a sensation that lingered all the way down the hill. For the first time, our plans for making a life here seemed like an empty gesture, an elaborate hoax.
Back at the house, Mila got right to the point.
“Why are you really doing this? What have they done to make you take this job? Because if it’s about me, I can take it.”
No, actually you couldn’t. That’s what I wanted to say, but knew better. So I looked into her unwavering gaze and tried to assess how close I could come to leveling with her.
“They seem to think they’ve cooked up some sort of case against me. From all the deals we had to make with Mbweli.”
She shook her head, and seemed to shiver a little. Mbweli had always upset her, and that was without even knowing the worst of what he had threatened.
“But you had no choice,” she said, repeating what I had told her long ago. “No one did. It’s the same way things worked in Sarajevo. We used to lose twenty percent of every convoy that came across Mount Igman. After a while it was like a regular highway toll.”
“Maybe. But they seem to think certain prosecutors might not see it that way. And even if they couldn’t make the charges stick, well, you know how those things can go.”
“That’s ridiculous, especially after what happened in Tanzania. All of the audits cleared you
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